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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658094">From Herring to Marmalade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greycedetective/pseuds/greycedetective'>greycedetective</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dirk Gently - Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Asexual Writer, Brotzly - Freeform, College AU, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, M/M, My First AU Fic, Not Beta Read, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates to lovers, Some Fluff, ace!todd, genderqueer writer, implicit/internalized aphobia, implicit/internalized biphobia, implicit/internalized homophobia, see chapter notes for further TW/CWs, set circa 2000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:41:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/greycedetective/pseuds/greycedetective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Todd shifted from foot to foot.  “I’m, uh.  I’m bi.”  He was sure he’d said it aloud more this week than he had in his entire college career.  “A friend of mine – Farah? – she said she knew you from work and that you were looking for a roommate, but if that’s a problem or whatever –”</p><p>“No problem at all, darling,” Dirk said, his brilliant smile returning, “I’m gay enough for both of us.”  He winked and disappeared back down the hallway with his arms full of notebooks, calling over his shoulder as he went.  “When are you moving in?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Todd Brotzman/Dirk Gently</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A quick note before we start: I’m the same age/AGAB as the actors who play Dirk &amp; Todd, so I’m writing them in their/our early 20s, which would be circa 2000 or 2001.  There will be more notes at the end that go into detail, but please know that much of what I’m writing comes from a place of personal experience.  So if things seem phobic/unfair/unrealistic, there’s a good chance that it’s because the world I’m writing about was a drastically different one from how things are now.</p><p>The setup of the story is heavily inspired by <a>this absolutely delightful fic</a>, which I highly recommend if you’re the Destiel sort.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>“Luckily," he went on, "you have come to exactly the right place with your interesting problem, for there is no such word as 'impossible' in my dictionary. In fact," he added, brandishing the abused book, "everything between 'herring' and 'marmalade' appears to be missing.”</em><br/>
<strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency</span></strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Todd knocked on the Residence Director’s door. While he waited, he jammed his hands in his pockets and started reading the various comics taped to the nearest wall. Ben Dorian had been the RD of the Pride Housing Program since time out of mind. Which, considering that his charges were all undergraduates, suggested a range of about three to ten years. He liked to decorate with strips he’d cut from the local newspaper or the on-campus rag, changing them out frequently enough to keep passersby interested.</p><p>Todd had met Dorian last semester, when he’d interviewed for a spot in one of the program’s suites, and had liked him at once. At the time Todd had been desperate to escape a bad living situation. Hugo, his hulking jock of a roommate, had split his time equally between working out, paying literate students to write his papers for him so he could pick up extra shifts at Abercrombie and Fitch, being a roidraging homophobe, and, presumably, rolling around in A&amp;F’s uniquely noxious, migraine-inducing cologne. The man was an all-encompassing assault on the senses, from dignity to logic to smell. Moving out had been imperative to preserving sanity, so Todd had outed himself to his RA and applied for Pride Housing on the opposite end of campus.  They had promised him a safe and welcoming community. Todd could hardly have been happier.</p><p>That was, he reflected as he half-listened to the RD wrapping up a phone call on the other side of the door, until he’d actually met his neighbors. In the same way he’d always felt alienated from “normal” guys for being bi-curious, he was alienated from the other residents for not being “actually gay.” He was inept enough at being a masculine, straight-passing guy that nobody had had given him any trouble at first. It wasn’t until he’d overheard his dozenth pointed conversation about how how being bi was merely an attempt to seem cool and trendy (if in a straight-passing relationship) or a clear sign of someone lying to themselves (if in a gay-passing relationship), that he realized he wasn’t going to fit in here, either. He found guys as interesting to look at as girls, sure, but the amount of emotional work in dating guys – and some of the sexual expectations – made dating girls worlds easier. So he’d kept himself mostly aloof from the other residents and tried to get on with his degree.</p><p>Todd could hear Dorian set the phone back in the receiver, scribble for a few seconds, and then get up from his squeaky desk chair. He opened the door with a broad, enchanting smile that matched his broad face and shoulders. He beckoned Todd in genially, motioned to a chair, and resettled behind his desk. He tapped a finger on an entry in his appointment book.</p><p>“Todd Brotzman,” he said. “Suite 42, Room B.”</p><p>“Yessir, Mr. Dorian.”</p><p>“Lord alive, kid, don’t call me that. Ben or Benny will do just fine.” He leaned back in the chair to appraise Todd for several seconds before continuing on. “The reason I asked you to come in is because I’ve had some serious complaints about your behavior from the other residents.”</p><p>“Complaints? I’m not too loud or anything, am I? I’ve never started any fights. I keep my room clean...ish. I don’t have any candles. I don’t drink, either – not even caffeine.”</p><p>“Well, I’m sure you can imagine why we’re taking this very seriously, but we’ve had a few students say you’re engaging in homophobic behavior.”</p><p>Todd blinked at him. “I’m...? Wait, <em>what</em>?”</p><p>Benny clenched his jaw and stared over Todd’s shoulder for a few seconds. “We’ve gotten written complaints that you’re bringing girls back to your suite.”</p><p>“The rooms and bathrooms are co-ed. Why wouldn’t girls be allowed in my suite? And how is that <em>homophobic?</em>”</p><p>Running a large hand over his short-cropped beard, Benny avoided Todd’s gaze by pulling out a sheet of paper from a blue file folder that had been sitting at the edge of his desk.</p><p>“Todd, if you’re having sex with girls in your room then you’re clearly not gay and you’re not a good fit for the program. Our residents need to feel a sense of community here. The whole rest of the world,” he gestured dismissively, “straight people get all of it. There’s an entire planet out there for you. Pride housing is for gay and lesbian students only. The whole point of separate housing is to create a space where being gay is the norm and nobody feels alienated for their sexuality. We’ve got a waiting list a hundred names long, so we’re giving you a week to find a new room."</p><p>“Hang on,” Todd said. He could feel his face getting hot. Authority figures made him itchy at the best of times. “I’m –” he struggled to say it aloud. “I’m bi<em>.</em> I’m not, um. I’m not straight.”</p><p>Benny readjusted his cap, clearly looking for words. “If you’re hooking up with girls then you’re <em>not gay</em>, Todd. That’s pretty straightforward. Look, I’m not here to debate semantics with you. You can't understand what it's like to be a gay man.” He closed his appointment book and shuffled the paper back into the file folder. “You’re making everybody else feel like they can’t be themselves. That violates the rules of your housing agreement. The rest of campus is open to you. Or you can find an apartment off campus. We’ll get some boys from maintenance to help you move once you’ve found a new spot.” He grabbed a card from the front drawer of his desk and slid it across to Todd. “Here’s the main Housing Services number. Give them a call ASAP, okay?”</p><p>Benny stood. Todd, dazed, stood automatically with him. He tried to process the words on the business card in his hand.</p><p>“Tell the next kid he can come in,” Benny said, turning his back on Todd to rifle through a file cabinet along the back wall. “Christ, I can’t wait until we get all this moved over to the computer system,” he muttered to himself as Todd shambled out of the office.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The label of Todd’s lime soda was picked clean off by the time he’d related the story to Farah and Mona. The three of them shared a booth at their favorite Chinese place.</p><p>“I spent all day on the phone,” he said. “I walked clear across campus twice. Don’t people drop out, or whatever? You’d think there would be more openings in the middle of the semester.”</p><p>Mona patted him on the arm. “Poor Todd. You’ll find something, I just know it.”</p><p>“What about off campus?” Farah asked. “You’d have more control over who you live with, instead of being randomly assigned somewhere.”</p><p>Todd sighed and necked back the last few drops of his drink. “I don’t know anybody off campus. It’s not like I’ve got a ton of friends, you know?" He dropped his voice. "I’m too freaky for the queers and too queer for the freaks.”</p><p>“Well <em>I</em> think you’re lovely,” Mona said. She put her head on his shoulder.</p><p>“Thanks, Mon. I’m just nervous I’m gonna get stuck with another Homophobic Hugo, y’know?” He ruffled her hair affectionately.</p><p>“You wouldn’t be in this predicament if you weren’t such a slut,” Mona teased.</p><p>Something clicked on Farah’s face for the briefest of moments.</p><p>“What? Did you think of someone?”</p><p>Farah had gone stone-faced again. “Nope.”</p><p>“C’mon, you’ve gotta help me. I’m gonna be homeless.”</p><p>“It’s not a good idea.”</p><p>“Great, let’s hear it. I love bad ideas.”</p><p>Mona giggled. “Yeah, let’s hear it! A bad idea is better than no idea, isn’t it?”</p><p>Farah frowned deeply. “Mona, you know Dirk, don’t you? He’s one of the houses on your cleaning route, I think?”</p><p>“Dirk <em>Gently?</em>” Mona’s eyes were huge. “The English guy?” She leaned back, thinking.</p><p>Todd stuffed his chopsticks back into the paper sleeve. “Does he need a roommate? Because I really don’t care who I live with at this point as long as they’re semi-human.”</p><p>Farah shook her head. “I don’t think he needs one, no, but he’s looking anyway. I know him from work. Or, well, sort of. He hangs around in the dispatch office a lot. I’m not exactly sure he works there.”</p><p>“I thought Churlish Curlish was your dispatcher?”</p><p>“She is, but Dirk’s just kinda... there? A lot. He’s not a <em>bad</em> guy, really. Just... weird?”</p><p>“I can do weird,” Todd said. “Can you get me his number or address?”</p><p>“He really is odd,” Mona added. “And his fridge is a disaster. I refuse to touch it until he cleans out the year-old leftovers. And he... um. He <em>drinks</em>. I know that could be an issue for you.”</p><p>“I really don't mind. It's college. It's not like I can avoid gross fridges or people who drink.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The front of the house was phlegm green. No matter how generous Todd was, he couldn’t think of a single better word for the color.</p><p>It was a squat little home, nestled in among a jungle of untamed weeds, litter, broken landscaping equipment, and trashy lawn ornaments. Todd picked his way over cracked paving stones to the front step, triple-checked he had the right address, and rang the bell.</p><p>When being absolutely honest with himself, he didn’t understand the fuss that people made about appearances. Men and women were interesting to look at, to greater or lesser degrees, but he felt that the extraordinary lengths people would go to in pursuit of someone they liked to look at were baffling. Crushes, “love at first sight,” spotting someone across a bar – none of it really made sense to him except as metaphor. Sex was fine. He could take it or leave it, though he did cherish the ego boost of finding and landing a partner who appreciated his company enough to be willing to touch him. Overall, though, it seemed like everybody must be exaggerating about what attractiveness really meant.</p><p>So while someone else’s first impression of Dirk Gently might’ve been that he was hot, or fit, or elegant, or lithe, or any of a dozen lewd descriptors, Todd Brotzman’s first thought was that he was beautiful in the way that a sculpture is beautiful. The omnipresent guilty pang that he was doing gayness wrong nagged at the corner of his awareness even as he admired the man’s shining auburn hair in the noon sun. The outfit, on the other hand – a sparkly grey velour undershirt and boxers that lived somewhere in the seafoam green family – was certainly striking enough to justify Todd’s gaping stare. At least he hoped so. He was always afraid other guys would think he was checking them out.</p><p>“History, philosophy, or theology?” Dirk asked.</p><p>“I – what?”</p><p>“What subject are you here for?”</p><p>“Oh, uh. No.” Todd frowned in confusion. “Are you a tutor or something?”</p><p>“<em>God</em> no.” Dirk turned on a bare heel and strode back into the dark house, leaving the door open. After several seconds of contemplation, Todd followed the man inside the snot-colored house.</p><p>“Before you ask,” Dirk said from somewhere out of sight, “<em>no</em>, I absolutely am <em>not</em> psychic.”</p><p>“I never implied you were?” Todd looked around the living room. The furniture was old and scratched but not broken or dingy. An uneven coffee table was cluttered without being untidy. The couch, threadbare and an unruly shade of baby shart orange, was free of mess (though covering it in dirty laundry would be a serious improvement, Todd thought).</p><p>Dirk popped back into the room, arms full of notebooks. He dropped them onto the monstrous sofa and gestured happily.</p><p>“Have a look. They’re organized by course number, with the exams in chronological order. $20 per exam. <em>And</em>,” he leaned in quite close, “<em>in no way</em> obtained by any telepathic or mystical means. I’ve not an ounce of clairvoyance in my body, you <em>must</em> understand that.”</p><p>Todd took in the rainbow of tabulated notebooks without making any move to touch them. “You sell exams?”</p><p>“Isn’t that why you’re here?”</p><p>“You’re the telepathic one, you tell me.”</p><p>“Todd, I’ve made it perfectly clear. I do wish people would stop saying I’m some, I dunno, <em>psychosassic vampire bat</em>, or what have you.”</p><p>“Psycho – sassy – whatsic?”</p><p>“Nothing, it’s a word I made up. Meaningless.” Dirk waved a hand in the air and began to gather the notebooks back into his arms. He paused and looked up at Todd, as if only now taking him in for the fist time. “Does that mean you’re here about the room, then?”</p><p>“Actually, yeah. Is it available? I’m kinda desperate for a place to live – I’m being kicked out of my old place.”</p><p>“Why? Are you difficult to live with?”</p><p>Might as well tell the truth. He had a feeling it would be the best approach with this guy. “I’m not gay enough for the pride housing program on campus and there aren’t any regular dorm rooms available.”</p><p>“Not gay... enough?”</p><p>Todd shifted from foot to foot. “I’m, uh. I’m bi?” He was sure he’d said it aloud more this week than he had in his entire college career. “A friend of mine – Farah Black – she said she knew you from work and that you were looking for a roommate, but if that’s a problem or whatever –”</p><p>“No problem at all, darling,” Dirk said, his brilliant smile returning, “I’m gay enough for both of us.” He winked and disappeared back down the hallway, leaving Todd alone in the living room once again.</p><p>Dirk returned in seconds, having dumped the books in a pile somewhere. He started talking before he was fully in sight. “I’ve got ethernet, we’ll split that. Hot water and electric are included. There’s a hookup for a phone line if you want one. I don’t bother with a line for myself because people come to me when they need my help, so that would be all you. I throw parties on the weekend and sometimes I pull on Thursdays so it’s just as well you’re bi – at least that won’t come as a shock to you.”</p><p>Todd wasn’t sure he was following, but there was no getting a word in so he scratched the back of his neck instead.</p><p>“Cleaning girl comes on Sundays. I do takeaway rather a lot – anything in the fridge that isn’t leftovers or cheese is free to share, though I’d avoid anything toward the back on principle.” He paused only long enough to draw in a giant breath. “So! When are you moving in?”</p><p>Todd cleared his throat. “Oh, uh. Soon, I guess?” He wasn’t sure when he’d agreed, but the mattered seemed settled.</p><p>“Tonight, then. I’ll help.” He gestured out a back window where, to Todd’s bafflement, a cotton candy blue corvette was parked under a rusted awning. “We can use my car,” he said. “Shall I meet you at your dorm at six?”</p><p>“Yeah, great,” Todd said, distractedly. Getting help from a not-psychic human whirlwind was far less intimidating than calling surly workstudy students from the maintenance department. "<em>That's</em> your car?"</p><p>“Well, no, it’s not <em>my</em> car, exactly.” Dirk ushered Todd through the front door. “But I can use it as I please. See you at six!”</p><p>Todd flinched when the door slammed behind him, sighed, and then started the slog back to his dorm.</p><p>He was three-quarters of the way through packing when he realized he’d never given Dirk his name or address. <em>Weird, </em>Todd thought. <em>I guess Farah must've warned him I was going to show up.</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>By means of an ingenious series of strategically deployed denials of the most exciting and exotic things, he was able to create the myth that he was a psychic, mystic, telepathic, fey, clairvoyant, psychosassic vampire bat. What did “psychosassic” mean? It was his own word and he vigorously denied that it meant anything at all.</em><br/>
<strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency</span></strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so a little bit of background info:  I have been queer my whole life, but only realized in the last few years that (1) I’m not gay or bi/pan, I’m grey ace (hence the username); and, (2) I’m not a guy, I’m genderfluid.  Back when this story takes place, pride groups &amp; housing on campus were fairly strictly limited to gay-only or lesbian-only, with bi people (as I thought I maybe partly was at the time) often being considered “not gay enough,” either implicitly or overtly.  We still said “transvestite” and “transsexual” back then, but even within the queer community it was poorly understood and very narrowly defined.  “Queer” was still mostly a slur if you weren’t solidly a part of the community (when the first Queer Eye came out in 2003, people would actually <i>whisper</i> the title, or refer to it obliquely).  “Drag” was a broad term for any gay man in feminine clothing (in other words, “transvestite” and “man in drag” were interchangeable terms and it was assumed all men in feminine clothing were gay).  Aces didn’t belong in queer spaces as far as anyone was concerned – like, at all – but more to the point nobody gave asexuality any thought (if they even realized it existed).  It certainly wasn’t as inclusive a term as it is now, since it was pretty much only used to describe people who were extremely sex-repulsed.  In other words, if you weren’t very openly / visibly gay, lesbian, or trans, you didn’t belong.<br/>So that’s the world I’m writing about – <i>my</i> world when I was in undergrad.  Much of what Todd experiences in this story is stuff <i>I</i> experienced in college.  I can’t speak to anyone else’s reality or other periods in time, only what I myself went through in the time and place that I went through it.  Other people likely had other experiences.</p><p>Speaking of, some of Dirk’s experiences in later chapters are loosely based on a friend of mine who went through some Real Shit as a kid, and his subsequent struggles with self-discovery/healing will make brief appearances throughout Dirk’s arc.  </p><p>I point all this out merely because some of the attitudes, thoughts/words, or actions might be hard to understand or seem unrealistic if you’re coming into it without that context.  I absolutely love that the rainbow community is ever-broadening and finding itself.  I’m in no way condoning the kind of exclusionary attitudes and asinine gatekeeping you see going on here.  So think of it as a bit of queer history: a window into a time that (as much as it hurts my feelings to say this because I’m in my 30s, ffs) occurred when you, dear reader, were likely either very young or not even born yet.  </p><p>Annnnnnnd now I will retire to my rocker with my knitting and my cats.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>"Shall I leave the window open or would you like to try the door?” she said with a sniff.</em>
    <br/>
    <strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency</span></strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Silas and Mike were supposed to be studying. What they were actually doing, Todd knew, was gossiping about him. Happily, Blink 182 did wonders to drown out their stage whispers while he waited for Dirk.</p><p>Although he couldn’t be certain, he’d put money on his room going to Silas’ boyfriend. Panto – who Todd occasionally called Poncho just to be an asshole – looked like a cornfed frat boy who’d lost a bet and had to dye his hair lemonade pink. That was the <em>least</em> absurd thing about him. He was an art major, focusing on what he called <em>Scherenschnitte</em>, which he <em>said</em> justified carrying scissors in his back pocket at all times. More likely he was just a weirdo. (So what if Todd was a little jealous?)</p><p>It was against dorm policy for partners to room together. It was also an open secret that everybody did it. Prying into students’ dating lives was where the line was drawn, it seemed, so long as they weren’t straight.</p><p>Slamming the final drawer shut, Todd flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t fair. Not that life had any obligation to be fair. Still, he should’ve been allowed to finish out the semester, he thought, surely. He punched a pillow for some downy catharsis.</p><p>“Todd? <em>Darling?</em>” Dirk’s voice was clear over the thudding of the stereo.</p><p>In the middle of the common room, slender and graceful as a willow in the wind, Dirk was impeccably outfitted in a crisp white dress shirt, dark blue tie, and black canvas jacket with rainbow stripes down the shoulder. Silas and Mike stared openly, mouths ajar.  He was even more beautiful than he'd been in his underpants, truth be told, and that was a hell of a bar.</p><p>Sweeping Todd up in a brief hug, Dirk led him back into the room. “Are you ready to go? I can’t carry anything too heavy – I’ve got a bum shoulder – but I can help with the rest. I parked the corvette in the quad so we’ll have to be quick. You lot,” he snapped imperiously at Todd’s suitemates, “hop to. We haven’t got all night. The least you can do is carry a box, don’t you think? That’s not too straight a thing for you to do, is it?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Three hours later, splitting a pizza with Dirk on the World’s Ugliest Sofa, Todd chortled with glee. “Their faces! Thanks for playing it up, Dirk. I think we really got the last laugh over those two.”</p><p>“Playing what up?” Dirk asked around a full mouth of food, manic energy having subsided. He’d disappeared to his room while Todd unpacked. Now he looked like a warming ice cream cone and smelled like burnt Italian food.</p><p>Todd shrugged and let it drop. “Nevermind. Anyway, I gotta finish an essay that’s due tomorrow and then I’m gonna turn in. What a <em>day</em>.” He briefly placed a hand on Dirk’s arm. “Thanks again, man, you really saved my ass.”</p><p>“Likewise,” Dirk murmured after Todd left the room.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As the week went by Todd got the impression that Dirk didn’t actually go to classes. He’d disappeared Wednesday night for several hours without any word about where he was headed. The next morning Farah IMed Todd to say she’d seen him at work.</p><p>
  <strong>Dirk looks amazing. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Are you two getting along?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Yeah, far as I know.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Does he not normally look good?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It’s complicated.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Glad it’s going okay.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Has he warned you about his habits?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The parties? Yeah, he mentioned them.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I can handle it.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I know you can.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hey, I’m sorry about you </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>getting kicked out.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It was my fault, wasn’t it?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>No.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>No, I think maybe it was more about them,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>what they can handle and what they can’t.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It’s like, you carve out a space for yourself</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>to be sheltered among your “own kind” and</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>then you find out that some people are only </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>halfway your kind, so you freak out.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I dunno if it’s a purity thing or a self-hatred</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>thing or tribalism or what. This isn’t </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>a good analogy, but I think of it as being a </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>little like people who grow up bicultural. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They’re never really allowed to fit totally </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>in one box or the other. When really, they </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>fit in both boxes, to a greater or lesser extent, </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>at all times. I’m probably not making any </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>sense, though.</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>I understand that better than you think I do.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But call me if you need anything, okay?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Yeah, okay.</strong>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>On Thursdays Todd had such a long block of classes that he didn’t get home until close to dark. Still, overloading on Thursdays meant getting Fridays off.  Not a bad tradeoff.</p><p>When he put his keys on the hook by the door he saw a neon orange note tied to Dirk’s key ring.</p><p>
  <strong>On the pull at The Manta. I’m leaving my keys so that I can’t be tempted to drive home. Please leave the door unlocked. Don’t wait up unless you’re ready for a show.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Doing what at the who? “A show?” The hell did any of that mean?</em>
</p><p>Todd busied himself with putting away his things and making some dinner. Afterward he passed the time chatting online with Amanda. She sounded like she was in good spirits. He nagged her about keeping her promise to take her meds, eat well, and get plenty of sleep, in response to which she good-naturedly told him to fuck off entirely. She’d been seizure-free for the last three months, so he could take his concern and shove it. He assured her he’d get right on that, first thing in the never.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The sound of a window opening startled Todd awake. He’d fallen asleep at his “desk,” a pile of milk crates set at the edge of a futon mattress he’d laid on the floor in the corner of his narrow room. He woke with his legs folded under him on the floor, body sprawled backward across the mattress where he’d stretched out to think. His legs were asleep and his back ached.</p><p>On the far wall, between posters of Bowie and Green Day, was Dirk.</p><p>Well, half of Dirk, to be accurate.</p><p>“<em>Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii</em>,” he slurred.</p><p>Todd sat bolt upright and boggled meaningfully at his housemate. “You’re in my window,” he said, helpfully.</p><p>“I am at that.”</p><p>“You know, with that yellow jacket you remind me of Winnie the Pooh.”</p><p>“Do I? Not sexy then, I suppose. Perhaps that was the issue.”</p><p>“The issue of... why you’re climbing through my window in the middle of the night?”</p><p>“Yes and no. Listen, could you either give me a hand or else go unlock the door?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dirk sprawled across the terrible sofa like a drunken, Dali-esque starfish. He had only one sock on. Todd sat on the arm of the sofa, regarding him.</p><p>“This isn’t much of a show.”</p><p>“No luck tonight,” Dirk said.</p><p>“Does it have anything to do with luck?”</p><p>“Not usually. It’s quite easy most of the time. I let them buy me drinks and I giggle a lot. The rest tends to sort itself out.” He started nodding to himself. “‘Course, it takes a little extra courage to get up the nerve.”</p><p>“I’m not following.”</p><p>“Normally –” Dirk tried to sit upright. He landed on his ass on the floor. “<em>Normally</em>,” he repeated, struggling to get back up while laughing, “it’s as easy as falling off a sofa.”</p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“What is what?”</p><p>Todd sighed and offered Dirk a hand up. “Have a seat.” He pointed to the sofa cushion. “Try to stay on it. I’ll get you some water and an aspirin.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next morning Todd woke early with every intention of apologizing properly for forgetting to leave the front door unlocked. But Dirk, it seemed, was gone again. He’d left the note taped to the bathroom mirror this time.</p><p>
  <strong>Gone to the gym to aTONE (har har). Back after lunch. -D</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Atone for what?</em>
</p><p>Todd trudged off to pour himself a bowl of cereal. Sooner or later, he figured, his sense of what was or wasn’t weird would be indelibly altered by living with this guy.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was easy to lose track of time when he was working on a new song. More than once Todd had found himself sitting in the dark with a finished piece and no idea where the day had gone.</p><p>When Dirk flopped down on the couch next to him, he yelped in surprise.</p><p>“Have you eaten?” Dirk asked.</p><p>“No, it’s barely even lunch time. I was in a groove, I guess. I’ll eat in bit.”</p><p>Dirk put his hand over Todd’s and waited until he looked up. Dirk was fresh from the shower.  His skin glowed. His hair looked soft and clean. His hand was warm, his eyes clear for once.</p><p>“It’s after two o’clock. I’ve been home for over an hour and you haven’t moved the entire time.”</p><p>Todd put the guitar down and ran a hand over his face. “Wow. I hadn’t realized. I get in the zone sometimes, y’know?”</p><p>“So I saw.”</p><p>“Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I blanked on the door thing even though you’d expressly asked me not to lock it.”</p><p>“No harm, no foul. Thank you for looking after me. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up hungover on a Friday morning.”</p><p>Todd shrugged. “Sure, it’s what people do.”</p><p>Something unreadable ghosted across Dirk’s face. For a fraction of a second it looked like he was chewing on his own tongue. Then he beamed widely and shot to his feet.</p><p>“I’ll make us some lunch if you’ll play for me."</p><p>“You want me to play for you?” Todd readjusted the guitar in his lap. “What kind of music do you like?”</p><p>“Oh, anything, really. It’s nice just to hear you.”</p><p>Todd felt himself blush. “Thanks. Okay, um, how about this?” He began to play something unobtrusive, an old melody he’d composed when he was first learning.</p><p>“It’s nice,” Dirk said, getting out a frying pan. “I don’t recognize it.”</p><p>“It’s one of mine. I like to play it when I’m thinking.”</p><p>“You <em>wrote</em> this? You write music on your own?”</p><p>“I guess? It’s just a way to pass the time.”</p><p>“You’re good. You should start a band.”</p><p>Todd laughed. “I’m not really the type. I’d probably end up in some ironically-named alt rock group full of unwashed fuckups, drop out, get busted for petty theft, and wind up in a deadend job with a stupid hat and a waning will to live.”</p><p>“That’s... specific.”</p><p>“I dunno, it came to mind randomly. I’m not the ‘get together with other people’ type, is my point.” He continued to play while they talked, a skill he’d learned when living at home. Amanda liked to chat when he was practicing, as if it were easier for her to open up if he seemed distracted.</p><p>Dirk was susceptible to the same assumption. “I can’t ever have <em>enough</em> people around me,” he said. “They never stay, of course. I think I’ve spent more time with you than with almost anyone.”</p><p>“Dude, I’ve known you three days.”</p><p>“Nobody’s ever stuck around this long before,” Dirk insisted.</p><p>Todd watched the grim line of Dirk’s mouth twitch in response to some unspoken thought. He frowned at the pan, far away in his own thoughts.</p><p>“Dirk?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Need a hand?”</p><p>“Why yes, I <em>could </em>use an assistant. How are you at making grilled cheese? I’ve never quite gotten the hang of it.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“He’s an asshole. I’m going to kill him,” Bart was saying as Todd walked up to the pool table. “He needs killing. Trust me, I know these things.”</p><p>Tina, Hobbes, and Farah were each leaning on various bits of arcade equipment, grinning indulgently at Bart. She lined up her shot and sunk it, to no one’s surprise. Once Bart had ahold of the cue the game was as good as over, even when they played three-against-one. She never missed a shot.</p><p>“Who are you murdering now?” Todd asked, bumping the table theatrically with one hip as Bart took her second shot.</p><p>“You, if you don’t quit that right this second.” She looked up at him, eyes gleaming, and sunk the next shot without looking back at the ball. She scared the nuts off him and he loved her for it.</p><p>“There’s a new boss at the security office and he’s breathing down all our necks,” Tina said. “His name’s Mack Johnson. He’s a dick. No breaks unless we call in first and get his express permission. Paperwork’s gotta be letter-perfect before any of us can go home – if one person’s got one typo, we all stay until the whole page is rewritten. Doesn’t matter if it’s two in the morning and we’ve got classes the next day. Plus he’s skeezy.”</p><p>“He’s a fucking creep, is what he is. I’m telling you, I don’t like him.”</p><p>“Hey Bart,” Hobbes said to cut the awkward silence. “Todd’s living with your buddy Dirk now.”</p><p>Bart whipped the cue stick around and halted it barely an inch from his left eye. “Dirk? <em>My</em> Dirk? Todd, you fuckin’ hurt him –”</p><p>“And you’ll murder me?” Todd chuckled nervously.</p><p>“Damn right I’ll murder you." She grinned at him. "With a pair of nail clippers.”</p><p>Todd put his hands up in mock surrender. “Noted. But honestly, he’s just my housemate. I barely know the guy.”</p><p>“Is he throwing one of his parties tonight?” Farah asked.</p><p>“He didn’t say anything about it.” Todd shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough. You were right though, he’s a little odd.”</p><p>“He’s precious and don’t you forget it,” Bart insisted.</p><p>"I won't."  Todd placed a quarter on the edge of the table. “You can kick my ass next, okay?”</p><p>Bart shrugged. “Your funeral.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There was indeed a party in full swing when Todd arrived home. He was still riding the high of having hit two balls in before Bart mopped the floor with him. Evenings with the group always left him feeling both drained and euphoric. It was like paying for group therapy with the energy it took to maintain a social facade. He was ready to crash.</p><p>Todd froze at the door.</p><p>Dozens of people were scattered around the house in various states of disrepair. Peppy music rattled the windows. Some folks were dancing, some were making out with one or more partners, others were playing beer pong on a rickety door that someone had nailed legs to.  Todd couldn’t remember having seen it before.  Solo cups covered every flat surface. The house smelled of beer, pot, cologne, and perfume. The tang of clove smoke wafted in from the back porch. </p><p>And there was Dirk.</p><p>Dirk was center stage, reposed on the bilious orange sofa with arms splayed across the backrest and a blond man in his lap. Hair tousled and head tipped back, his lips were parted in silent appreciation of the enormous hickey that was being sucked onto his throat just above where his linen shirt had been unbuttoned. He was the perfect picture of an invitation to sin.</p><p>Todd stared. Of course he did.</p><p>It was, he told himself, because it took a few moments for his brain to catch up.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t been to a party before, or that he was caught off guard. It was the sheer amount of sensory information demanding to be processed that locked him in place. Nothing else. Obviously.</p><p>“Drinking or designated?” a woman’s voice asked, off to his right.</p><p>His neck got the signal to turn his head, but his eyes stayed locked on Dirk. He had a hand in the guy’s platinum hair now. Todd could see his breathing was fast and shallow even from across the dim room.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Todd asked, his face but not his gaze turned toward her.</p><p>“Are you drinking, or are you a designated driver for someone?”</p><p>At last he forced his eyes away. The woman was a strong-looking brunette in a flowy peasant blouse. She held a permanent marker and a collection of red and green wristbands.</p><p>“Oh, uh, no. Neither.” He cleared his throat to ease the tension that had knotted there. “I live here. I’m headed to my room.” He pointed uselessly. “Awesome of you to check, though.”</p><p>"No wristband, no entrance. That's a hard rule. No exceptions."</p><p>"Red, then."  He held out his wrist for her. "Thanks."</p><p>He’d meant to only glance once more at Dirk on his way by, but that was the moment when Dirk looked his way. A lazy, relaxed smile played across his wet, kiss-reddened mouth. He raised a few fingers in salute. Todd swallowed hard and ducked into his room.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Once, back in high school, Todd had had the thoroughly disorienting experience of his body going inexplicably off the rails during a date. Thinking back on it was something he did only rarely, preferring instead to keep it tucked away with all the other embarrassing memories of being a teen. It came unbidden to mind now: the way she’d been talking about a movie she liked, sitting across from him at a mediocre restaurant, her brown hair so long it nearly brushed against the table. Whether it was the planets aligning or a freak of neurology, a wire had sparked in his gut as he watched her. His face went a hot shade of purple at the memory.</p><p>Unlike the random Horniness Roulette that slams into teens at inopportune times, this had been more like having his skull stuffed with packing cotton and industrial magnets. His whole body vibrated at a frequency he was sure the entire restaurant could hear. Everything she said got lost in a haze of disorientation while he grappled with the intense desire to touch her. The feeling was predatory, somehow, as if part of him didn’t care whether it was okay to want what she may or may not want to give. Thinking about it now made him nauseous.</p><p>He hadn’t called her again after that. There was no way he’d risk it happening again. And now the odd feeling was back.</p><p>A light knock on the door startled Todd out of his stunned reverie.</p><p>“Todd? Are you okay?”</p><p><em>Dammit</em>. “One second.”</p><p>He inhaled as slowly as he could. Hopping and shaking out his arms was doing little to release the tension, so, defeated, he looked up at the ceiling, wondered briefly if it would be improved by a tapestry, and opened the door.</p><p>Dirk was inches away, his hair mussed and shirt still unbuttoned. He swayed slightly. He was close enough that Todd could smell fresh aftershave. Neither of them backed up; Todd because his feet refused and Dirk most likely because he didn’t notice. A heroic amount of self control brought Todd’s eyes away from the blossoming bruise on Dirk’s throat to somewhere just above his eyeline – a trick he’d learned from Mona to help ease anxiety.</p><p>“Hey man, what’s up?”</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, great. Nice party.”</p><p>“You can join us, if you like. It’s your home, too. There’s plenty of fun to go ‘round.”  </p><p>“Oh, uh. No, I – ” Todd ran out of words.  His throat was dry.</p><p>“You sure you’re alright? You look pale.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m good.  I’m just tired.” <em>Ahh, the age-old standby lie.  </em>Avoiding eye contact was paramount.</p><p>The problem, however, is that humans aren’t made to stare fixedly at one spot, especially when nervous. It was inevitable, then, that the hickey would end up in his wandering line of sight, and from there his gaze shifted to the concerned line of Dirk’s mouth. The predatory magnets in Todd’s brain snapped together. Here was someone his body <em>wanted</em>. It screamed so loudly that Todd couldn’t focus.</p><p>“Was it the, erm,” Dirk gestured with his head, “on the sofa? Is that a problem?”</p><p>“No,” Todd heard himself say through the fog, “that was wonderful.” <em>Brotzman, you complete fuckwit, what atrocity did you just commit with your voice.</em></p><p>“I mean, good for you, right? It’s, um,” Todd tried instead.</p><p>It was like he was wearing the electrical hum that fluorescent lights give off, if said fluorescent lights wanted very much to grab a fistful of their housemate’s collar and yank him close.</p><p>The first time it had happened, Todd had been so ashamed that he’d hated himself for months afterward. This time, though, it took on hues of giddy anticipation. <em>Is this what normal people feel when they say someone is sexy?</em> Todd wondered.</p><p>“Come join us,” Dirk said, a grin spreading across his face. “There’s always room for one more.”</p><p><em>How doth the little crocodile</em>, Todd’s addled brain supplied.</p><p>But surely that wasn’t an invitation to ...?</p><p>Except that it was, because then Dirk’s mouth was on his and Dirk was pressing into him, all the heat of his bare chest radiating into Todd’s skin through his teeshirt. Dirk took advantage of Todd’s gasp to tease his tongue against Todd’s lower lip.</p><p>Giving in, Todd grabbed Dirk’s hips and pulled him in with a roughness he’d never dared use with girls. The power of it was a revelation. Dirk hummed appreciatively and cupped the back of Todd’s head, fingers brushing along the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.</p><p>Then, as it always does, sanity caught up to the moment.</p><p>Todd pushed Dirk away, hard. Much harder than he’d intended. He retreated several steps and brushed his mouth off with the back of his hand.</p><p>“Dude, you’re my <em>housemate</em>. Go –” he searched for words that wouldn’t burn the bridge. “Go enjoy your party. We’ll talk tomorrow when you've sobered up.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>All you really need to know for the moment is that the universe is a lot more complicated than you might think, even if you start from a position of thinking it's pretty damn complicated in the first place.</em>
    <br/>
    <strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy</span></strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Going by the actors’ ages there would be a twelve-year age gap between Todd and Amanda, meaning that she'd be 8 if he was 20.  I put her at about 16 for this story for the sake of ease.</p><p>As always, I must stress that any unprepossessing OCs are not based in any way on anyone in the real world.  Any resemblance in name or deed to actual persons is purely coincidental.</p><p>And, disclaimer, I’m grey ace.  I have experienced attraction, like, twice ever.  I think.  Maybe.  I suspect I may be describing it poorly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p><em>The room was not a room to elevate the soul. Louis XIV, to pick a name at random, would not have liked it, would have found it not sunny enough, and insufficiently full of mirrors. He would have desired someone to pick up the socks, put the records away, and maybe burn the place down. Michelangelo would have been distressed by its proportions, which were neither lofty nor shaped by any noticeable inner harmony or symmetry, other than that all parts of the room were pretty much equally full of old coffee mugs, shoes and brimming ashtrays, most of which were sharing their tasks with each other. The walls were painted in almost precisely that shade of green which Rafaello Sanzio would have bitten off his own right hand at the wrist rather than use, and Hercules, on seeing the room, would probably have returned half an hour later armed with a navigable river.<br/></em> <strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul</span></strong></p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p> </p><p>The rest of the night had been marked by pacing, muttering, and fitful sleep. Todd was fairly sure he’d heard Dirk with a guy in the next room, a memory he did his best to rewrite later with angry music.</p><p>In the morning the house was precisely how he’d expected it to look: utterly trashed.</p><p><em>One fight at a time</em>, he told himself. Studying in his room would be better than fuming in the wreckage of the living room anyway. Dirk would most likely be up whenever his hangover wore off. They could discuss it then. In the mean time he had some calculus to swear at.</p><p>Around noon Dirk walked through the front door in athletic shorts and a tank that left Todd feeling a little hysterical and a lot disgruntled. Last night’s feelings hadn’t been a one-off after all, it seemed.</p><p>“Oh, hey! I thought you were still asleep. When’d you go out?” he asked, making a point of keeping it light.</p><p>Dirk halted his powerwalk to the bathroom. “Me?”</p><p>“Yes you, we’re the only two living here aren’t we?”</p><p>"Not entirely. There's also Thud."</p><p>"I'm sorry? <em>Thud?</em>"</p><p>"The cat. He wanders in and out. Big orange fellow. I've tried putting him on a diet. I suspect the neighbors are feeding him."</p><p>Todd shook his head. "Yes, Dirk, I was talking to you. You must've been up pretty early."</p><p>He studied Dirk’s face. He’d been sweating at the gym, certainly, but there was also a deep puffiness around his red-rimmed eyes. Heavy lids blinked slowly, the way people do when they’re fighting a headache in bright light.</p><p>Todd modulated his voice to a softer timbre out of longstanding habit. “I’ll make you some lunch while you shower. Have you eaten at all today yet?”</p><p>“No, I –” he started, as if choosing words from a script held at arm’s length, “I’m glad you didn’t worry about the mess. I know it’s hard to look at.”</p><p>Todd shifted. “I was going to talk to you about that.”</p><p>“<em>Mona needs the work!</em>”</p><p>Dirk looked startled by his own brusqueness. He hurried to explain. “That is, I wouldn’t simply leave a mess for you to clean. They’re my parties and my responsibility. I can’t tell you how I know, but I know that she relies on... erm, on it. On the cleaning, I mean. I’m sorry, I should’ve said.”</p><p>A spark of fondness settled on Todd’s skin. “You’re a good guy, Dirk. Now go on. Shower. You’re stinking up the place. You like bologna? ‘Cause that’s all we’ve got.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When they’d eaten and cleaned up their dishes, Todd cleared a spot on the horrange sofa for the both of them.</p><p>“Sit, we need to talk.”</p><p>Dirk looked queasy. He sat obediently, if primly, facing forward, while Todd turned his body at an angle to face him.</p><p>“I’m not mad, okay? But – drunk or high or not – you’re my housemate and we’re off limits to each other. Especially without asking first.”</p><p>“I know.” Dirk rubbed at his cuticles with a thumb. “I can’t make excuses. I was in the wrong and I <em>am </em>sorry. It <em>won’t</em> happen again.” He looked toward Todd from the corner of his eye. “You’re ...not moving out? You still want to live with me?”</p><p>“It's strike one.” Todd clapped him on the shoulder. “For now we’re cool.”</p><p>Dirk tucked his chin a little closer to his chest. “Right. Of course. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After that their lives fell into a sort of routine. Dirk worked – so Farah claimed – once or twice a week at the campus security office. Sometimes he went out on Thursdays and would return, alone and smashed, in the small hours. (Todd made a point of leaving the door unlocked for him, having learned his lesson, though he found it hard to nod off before he'd heard Dirk stumble through the door.) Each Friday or Saturday Dirk threw a party. By the third week he’d begun to plan them only on Saturdays so that Todd would grouse less about living in a sty before Mona got there to work her magic on Sunday morning.</p><p>When there was a party going on Todd would stay for an hour or two, nursing a soda, then excuse himself to his room when people began to pair off. He made a point of always being in his room with headphones before Dirk had settled on a partner. He slept with earplugs in for his own sanity. The hot, magnetic itch had mellowed, thank goodness, though it lived in his nerves like a virus, flaring up at times predictable only for their inconvenience.</p><p>Thud made an appearance a few times each week. The name, Todd learned, came from the window-rattling boom the cat made when jumping down from furniture. He was a prodigiously fat, cantankerous, near-sighted cat that only Dirk could get within arm's reach of. Thud and Todd made an uneasy peace wherein Todd agreed agreed not to approach him and Thud agreed to let Todd off with only minor scratches.</p><p>Now and then Dirk would be up before dawn. On those mornings Todd woke to the smell of breakfast. While he ate Dirk would read to him from whatever book he happened to have on hand, usually some ancient philosopher Todd had never heard of. He did better in his classes on those days, having started off fully fed from belly to brain.</p><p>Still, it was the lazy afternoons that Todd loved best. While Dirk didn’t seem to have homework, he did spend a great deal of time spread over notes and old exams. During these times Todd would practice his guitar in the living room, relishing the moments when Dirk would look up from his notes to daydream. He was always stone sober during his study sessions: clear-eyed, lucid, and calm, with none of the manic, addled amnesia that characterized the bulk of his evenings.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By the second month Todd’s friends began to razz him about the changes in his habits.</p><p>“You never come out any more!” Tina complained over lunch one day. “Who am I supposed to bitch to about my stupid physics professor if you’re always at home studying like a nerd?” </p><p>“Gosh, y’know, she's right,” Hobbes added. “You never talk about dates or hookups any more. How can I live vicariously through you if you’re being such a homebody?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Todd said with a grin. “I'll get right on it. Because who’s gonna step up to be the group slut if I’m focusing on school?”</p><p>"Not me," Bart said. "That's for sure."</p><p>Farah caught his eye. “But you and Dirk are getting along okay?”</p><p>“Yeah? Should we not be?"</p><p>“No, no. Nothing like that. Just wondering.” She evaluated him in the way she had, the one that made him feel like she must be cataloguing all of his shortcomings.</p><p>"His cat hates me, though."</p><p>“There must be loads of hookups at his parties,” Tina said. “I heard they’re <em>wild</em>.”</p><p>“I mean, I guess? I couldn’t really say, I tend to cut out early before it gets too raucous.”</p><p>“I’m with you,” Hobbes said. “Not much of a partier myself.”</p><p>“You’re not watching Dirk?” Bart asked, clearly displeased. “I thought I told you to keep an eye out for him.”</p><p>“You told me if I hurt him you’d kill me.”</p><p>“Well I’ll also kill you if he gets hurt while you’re there.” She stabbed at a forkful of pasta.  </p><p>“Jesus, I can’t <em>babysit</em> the guy. He’s a grown adult. I mean, mostly. Sort of.” Todd chewed his tongue for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Todd tested the waters the next morning over breakfast. Dirk had paused in his reading of Catullus to stare out the window over the kitchen sink. Todd didn’t understand Latin, but something about it had clearly caught Dirk’s imagination. He’d been silent for a full two minutes before Todd cleared his throat.</p><p>“Hey, Dirk?” he tried, hesitant to interrupt.</p><p>“Hmm?” He continued to stare out the window.</p><p>“Where do you go Thursday nights?”</p><p>“Depends.” He put the book down. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Just curious, I guess. It’s none of my business.  You don’t have to tell me.”</p><p>“I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s The Manta, sometimes it’s The Usquebar.”</p><p>“And these are... bars?”</p><p>“One’s a nightclub, the other’s a bar, yes.”</p><p>“Do you have fun, doing that?” Todd cringed at himself. He wasn’t pulling off being casual and he knew it.</p><p>“Do you - would you like to come with me?”</p><p>“Yes.” <em>Oops</em>. “No!” <em>Shit.</em> “...maybe?” </p><p>Todd visualized banging his head against the kitchen table.</p><p>“That’s every possible answer, Todd.”</p><p>“Uhhh. Yeah. I mean, sure, it could be fun, right?”</p><p>Dirk's gears were audibly grinding. Finally, he said, “Alright. Come with me tomorrow. Dress nicely, we’re going to The Usquebar. You’re not ready for The Manta yet."</p><p>“I’m not?”</p><p>“You are not.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><em>It’s not a date</em>, Todd reminded himself minute by minute over the next 36 hours. <em>It’s not a date. It’s two friends.... housemates... <strong>friends(!)</strong></em>... <em>going out, as friends do</em>. <em>Nothing was said to insinuate it was a date.</em> <em>I don’t date guys, anyway. I’m going to keep an eye on him because I promised I would.</em></p><p>It was the mantra he lived by for a full day and a half. He wasn’t some hopeless romantic, wishing his friend would notice him pining for the forbidden fruit. This was two sane guys doing normal things. Guys’ night.  <em>Just guys’ night.</em> <em><span class="u">Not</span> a date.</em></p><p>Which obviously is why he spent over an hour getting ready.</p><p>In the back of his closet was a light-colored shirt and vest combo Amanda had made him pack “for special occasions.” Paired with fitted dark slacks and his best black boots (a man had to make some concessions for personality and comfort, after all), it didn’t make for a bad picture. No worse than usual, anyway. He combed his hair for once – something his mother swore he didn’t do nearly enough - and in a fit of pique threw in some gel to hold it away from his face.</p><p>The walk wasn’t far. Downtown was close to campus. Dirk had said to be there around nine; he’d get there as soon as he finished a few errands. Todd managed to find it with only a little trouble, tucked in as it was behind some louder, more student-oriented establishments.</p><p>The inside of the bar was lavish. Amber uplighting showcased an interior full of leather, mahogany, crystal, and clusters of people seated in intimate twos and threes by a long row of windows that opened onto a park Todd had never noticed before. It was the kind of place senior faculty went after hours to impress new candidates, not the kind undergrads wandered into after class.</p><p>Todd pulled at his collar and searched for a place to sit.</p><p>Dirk was at far end of the bar, looking elegant as a pearl, his long fingers wrapped around a delicate coupe glass. All Todd could do was take him in.  A navy waistcoat over a three-quarter-sleeve shirt drew the eyes to his arms and throat. He had his signature tie and – Todd noticed as he started to walk over – a matching pocket square. His hair shone in the low light of a nearby table candle.  </p><p>Todd zeroed in on the absurdity of the pocket square to keep himself from going dry-mouthed.</p><p>
  <em>Not a date. Not a date. Absolutely, positively, not. Dudes’ night.</em>
</p><p><em><strong>Fuck</strong>, he looks good</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>“Would it save you a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy</span></strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><i>Usquebae</i> and <i>usquebaugh</i> are among the derivatives of the Irish <i>uisce beatha</i> (“water of life,” from the Latin <i>aqua vitae</i>, a  delightful drink folks from the middle east had discovered entirely by accident while looking for better ways to make eyeliner and which they called <i>al kohl<i>). It came into English as "whisky."  The Usquebar is one of the many things I would name a pub if I were ever to own one.</i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>There, now your time hasn't been entirely wasted and you've got a shiny new trivium to show off to your friends.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Outfits / bar come from <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0b/55/bb/0b55bb85c82fd3eab9240adf79e11da7.jpg">here</a> and <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6e/aa/6b/6eaa6bd1f9ec71e80dd238cdeff0df56.jpg">here</a>.</i>
  </i>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>TW/CW for:</b>
</p><ul>
<li>homophobic slurs (throughout)</li>
<li>chronic illness/epilepsy (described, first scene)</li>
<li>sexual content (graphic, fifth / second-to-last scene)</li>
<li> violence / blood (graphic, sixth / final scene)</li>
<li>parent death (mentioned, final scene)</li>
<li>child abuse / sexual abuse of children / kidnapping (mentioned, final scene)</li> </ul><p>Please proceed with the level of caution needed to keep yourself happy and safe.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>There are some people you like immediately, some whom you think you might learn to like in the fullness of time, and some that you simply want to push away from you with a sharp stick.</em><br/>
<strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul</span></strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Todd rested a hand on Dirk’s arm to get his attention, doing his best not to dwell on the firm muscle and warm skin under his fingers or the heat in his cheeks. Dirk started at the touch, then placed his hand over Todd’s briefly and squeezed.</p><p>“You made it. Excellent.” He slid a second coupe glass to a spot in front of the empty seat he’d saved. “I took the liberty of ordering you this. I think you’ll like it.”</p><p>“I don’t –”</p><p>“Don’t drink. I know. And for tonight, neither do I.” He patted the seat and waited for Todd to get settled. “It’s butterscotch ice cream and apple juice blended together. I think you’ll like it.”</p><p>It was an effort not to gag. Todd did his best to nod appreciatively despite the sticky, cloying heaviness of it. Dirk’s sweet tooth was almost impossible to keep up with.</p><p>“Thanks. I’ve never had anything like it.”</p><p>“You look nice,” Dirk said. “I don’t know as I’d’ve worn beige with black, but you made it look good.”</p><p>“Thanks?”</p><p>Dirk regarded him over the lip of his glass as he took a sip. “Do you mind me asking?”</p><p>“The outfit? It’s the only nice thing I have.”</p><p>“Well, that does explain some things, but no. What I meant was, ‘d’you mind me asking <em>why you don’t drink</em>?’ You don’t have to tell me if it’s... sensitive,” he trailed off.</p><p>Todd traced the woodgrain of the bartop with his fingertips. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I don’t have some tragic backstory.”</p><p>“A shame,” Dirk said with a wink. “I was hoping for something juicy.”</p><p>“My sister has epilepsy. Amanda. She’s in high school. She got diagnosed when she was a baby. She’s always had to be super careful about everything. You’d be shocked how many triggers there are. Not enough sleep, too much stress, not eating enough - or eating the <em>wrong</em> things. She can’t have alcohol or caffeine. Not all triggers are the same for everyone, but, like, she’s got to be on her guard <em>all</em> the time. It was hell for my parents when she was small. Now she’s pretty much got it under control.”</p><p>“And you?”</p><p>“Me? No, I’m fine. But there was this time when we were younger, she was crying so hard because it’s a <em>lot</em>, y’know? It’s a hell of a thing for a kid to realize she’s been cheated out of the kinds of experiences everybody else takes for granted. She felt so lonely. So I promised her we were in it together. Whatever she couldn’t do, I <em>wouldn’t</em> do. No caffeine, no drugs, no alcohol. Even if no one was looking. It’s...” he shrugged.</p><p>“It’s important to me,” he continued after a moment. “And then I got here and everybody assumed it was some straightedge punk thing, which sounded way cooler than ‘my sister’s sad and I don’t want her to feel alone.’ So I didn’t say anything. It’s not, like, a <em>secret</em>. Just, nobody’s asked until now.”</p><p>Dirk had been fiddling with the stem of his glass while Todd talked, clearly listening but not looking up. “Does that bother you – people feeling alone?”</p><p>“I guess? I don’t really think about it much.” He was about to go on rambling when a familiar, if unplaceable, voice broke in on their conversation.</p><p>“Hey, it’s you! British guy!”</p><p>It had been more than a month since Todd had seen the expression: the glowing, fake smile Dirk had used as a mask the first day they’d met. Charming, yes, but – now that Todd knew him a little better – disingenuous. A salesman’s smile.</p><p>“Hugo, <em>hi!</em>”</p><p>
  <em>Hugo??</em>
</p><p>Sure enough, when Todd whipped around he was face-to-chest with the wall of brainless insolence that had once been his roommate. His mall-bought pungency filled Todd’s nose and made him cough.</p><p>“Fruitcake!” he greeted Todd cheerily.</p><p>Todd did his best to arrange his features into something that could pass for friendly. He sensed that his eyebrows weren’t cooperating.</p><p>“Do you two know each other?” Dirk asked. The salesman expression had taken on faint notes of malice, far behind Dirk’s shining eyes.</p><p>“Hell yeah, Fruitcake used to live in my dorm. We’re old pals.” Hugo slapped Todd on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off his seat. “Dude, I need your services, <em>if you know what I mean</em>. When can I come by?”</p><p>“Saturday,” Dirk said. “Eighty dollars.”</p><p>“Done.” Hugo knocked once on the bartop, then pointed a thumb over his shoulder to a well-heeled, middle-aged couple several tables away. “I gotta go hang with my folks. Good seeing you, dude.” He ruffled Todd's hair. “Enjoy your <em>date</em>, Fruitcake.”</p><p>Behind Dirk, a hawk-faced man with black hair styled in an unflattering faux combover eyeballed them with interest. Todd had noticed him glancing over from time to time since he'd arrived. Now the man stared with an avaricious leer directed keenly at Dirk. Todd felt claustrophobic.</p><p>“Dirk? Can we go? Anywhere else. I need some air.”</p><p>Dirk was on his feet in an instant. “Of course.” He shoved his arms into the sleeves of a black peacoat that, had Todd not been distracted with a dire need to flee, would certainly have caught his attention. Dirk encircled him with an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close. “C’mon, darling,” he said as they strode out, “let me take you for pizza before we go home.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t come up again until the next morning. The rest of their evening passed as they always did: good-natured joking around, Dirk driving the Corvette in his usual homicidal fashion, wishing each other good night before turning in sometime around midnight.</p><p>It was one of those mornings where Dirk was up early to make breakfast. It was becoming a kind of routine. Especially, Todd noticed, on the rare occasions where Dirk had been sober the night before. Today he was singing to himself as he worked, something high and sweet that Todd didn’t recognize.</p><p>“I’m really sorry we ditched the bar last night,” Todd said, settling a hip against the counter. “I asked to come along and then I sort of ruined it.”</p><p>“Not at all.” Dirk shooed him to the table and set a plate in front of him. “Nobody there worth bringing home but you.”</p><p>“Is that what you usually do? <em>Fuck!</em>” He chewed joyously around the outburst, “These are some amazing pancakes, man.”</p><p>“Why thank you. It’s... what I <em>used</em> to do, I suppose. <em>Fuck</em>, as you say.”</p><p>“You don’t have to stop on my account. I don’t care what you do with your time. And you’ve still got your parties. Which reminds me – mind if I hang around tomorrow?”</p><p>Dirk wasn’t eating so much as pushing pancake bits around his plate. “You always do. Well, that is, until you don’t.” He put his fork down. “Of course you’re welcome. You’re always welcome. It’s your home, too. Stay, if it makes you happy.”</p><p>Todd beamed, the weight of Bart’s disapproval lifting from his chest. “Awesome. I’d better get cracking on homework, then. I can already tell I’m gonna be useless Sunday.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The party kicked off with the arrival of a dozen or so people who’d been gustily pre-gaming most of the day. Dirk welcomed them in with his crocodile grin and a handful of cheek kisses. By the third one Todd made up his mind not to be jealous. What business was it of his, anyhow?</p><p>Hugo brought up the tail end of the first group. Todd had wondered all day when he was planning to show, not considering for a moment that he’d overlap with the festivities. But here he was, cash in hand, his face flushed from hours of hard day drinking. From his spot in the corner, Todd saw Dirk draw Hugo in for a prolonged hug, hands lingering on bulging forearms as he snapped a set of three bands around the enormous wrist. Dirk pulled him back in for a kiss on the cheek and then – Todd nearly slid off the arm of the chair he’d perched on – slapped Hugo on the ass to send him on his way. Hugo seemed to take it all in good humor, throwing Todd a little wave on his way to the keg on the back porch.</p><p>Todd immediately put it out of his mind.</p><p>Half an hour later, when there was a lull in arrivals, Dirk wandered over with the box of wristbands. He held out a black one. “You’ll want this one to start. The others you’ll have to sort out for yourself.”</p><p>“Explain them to me?”</p><p>“White if you’re partaking, black if not. Purple for gay, pink for bi, orange for straight. Green if open to a hookup, yellow if not sure, red if not interested.”</p><p>Todd’s gaze flicked to Dirk’s wrist. <em>White, purple, green. </em></p><p>Before he could change his mind, Todd fished out a pink band and a green one. <em>Tonight</em>, he told himself, <em>no chickening out. </em>Time to snag one of those regrettable hookups everyone was always going on about.</p><p>“Cool idea,” he said, struggling to put them on one-handed. “How’d you come up with it?”</p><p>Dirk placed the box on the couch and grabbed Todd’s arm, deftly snapping the bands on as he talked. “Friend of mine’s a promoter in New York. Said it’s been hugely popular out that way. I thought I’d bring it to our little corner of the world.” He drew a thumbnail down the underside of Todd’s wrist when he was finished. A corner of his mouth quirked up when Todd involuntarily shivered. “Good luck.”</p><p>“Yeah, uh. You too.”</p><p>The bulk of the evening passed as they usually did, with Todd camped out on an armchair, trying (if mostly failing) not to be too much of a tool, and occasionally wandering out back to catch some fresh air.</p><p>He was on his third refill of lemon soda when Hugo cornered him in the kitchen. He bumped Todd’s shoulder in what was probably meant to be a friendly way, causing him to spill part of the drink on his shirt.</p><p>“What the <em>hell!</em>” Todd hissed.</p><p>“Oh shit, man, I’m sorry.” Hugo grabbed a handful of paper towels. “Thought you could hold your drink better than that.”</p><p>Todd had his mouth open to rip into Hugo at last – let him have all the vitriol he’d stored up over the last year – when he spotted the pink wristband below the wad of proffered towels.</p><p><em>Pink</em>.</p><p>PINK.</p><p>Todd’s mouth stayed open even as his gears ground to a halt.</p><p>
  <em>...pink?</em>
</p><p>“You okay? I’m wicked sorry, dude.”</p><p>Homophobic Hugo. The guy who’d never once used Todd’s actual name. Oh no. No way. It was too cliché to be true.</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> fine. Gonna go change my shirt.” Todd pushed past Hugo. “<em>Fuckin’ closet case,</em>” he muttered.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He’d had every intention of going back out.</p><p>Clad in a fresh blue polo, he’d resolved to approach the dark-haired girl in the striped tanktop who’d been leaning disaffectedly against the far wall most of the evening. She’d had a yellow bracelet, which meant it was worth a try, right? (And therefore not on him if she blew him off.)</p><p>He paused in the doorway a moment, thinking back on the last time he’d lingered there during a party – the first one, when Dirk had kissed him. His first gay kiss. The first guy he’d really, <em>really</em> been attracted to. (Looking back that had to be what it was, which brought up a lot of unanswerable questions.)</p><p>He stood there, fingers on lips, lost in thought, when he heard Dirk’s voice in the next room. Dirk was using his purring, flirty voice.</p><p>“Is this what you wanted?”</p><p>Then, Hugo’s voice, thick with drink and something Todd didn’t recognize. “Yeah. <em>Hell </em>yeah.</p><p>“Come over to the bed with me, love. I’ve got something special for you.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Then, a few seconds later, “<em>oh shit yeah</em>.”</p><p><em>Fucking poet, this one</em>. Todd was sure he was going to throw up if he didn’t tune it out immediately. He slammed his headphones over his ears and dialed up the music until it hurt. Better his eardrums than his heart.</p><p>...<em>my... heart?</em></p><p><em>Ohhhhhhh no. That </em>can’t<em> be right.</em></p><p>Todd stretched out on his futon, Discman lying on the pillow next to his head. This was not the kind of introspection one did standing up.</p><p>Dirk was kind. He was charismatic and intelligent. He looked <em>phenomenal</em> in absolutely everything, from tight boxers to a waistcoat and tie. He was easy to talk to. Trustworthy. Drove an awesome car (minor, but still worth points).</p><p><em>Okay, cons. Let’s see...</em> shifty about what he did with most of his time. Did drugs and drank freely without concern for his own wellbeing. Was odd in a breathtaking number of ways. Had tons of casual sex. Was having, at this very second, casual sex with <em>Hugo</em>, of all people, who was about as diametrically opposite to Todd in both looks and personality as a person could possibly get. Relied on academic cheating for income, presumably.</p><p>Though, come to think of it, where <em>did</em> all his money come from?</p><p>
  <em>Hmm, what else...? </em>
</p><p>Oh, right. He was under Bart’s protection, which was both a strong pro (Bart didn’t like most people) and an iron-clad con (she would bludgeon Todd to death with a toothpick if the slightest thing went wrong which, history could attest, would take less than a week).</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The digital clock, if Todd’s bleary, one-eyed vision could be trusted, read 4:19 AM. The house was silent. He took off his headphones, the CD long since having played through. Rolling over with every intention of changing into pajamas, Todd’s ears caught up to what had woken him.</p><p>Dirk was moaning.</p><p><em>Loudly</em>.</p><p>Whatever he was getting, it was fast and rough. It was gloriously intense.  Dirk's wild, formless cries rang of being undone with furious abandon. If Todd had been able to move or breathe he would have groaned as well. It was pornographic, yes, and so much <em>more</em>. It was real. It was <em>Dirk</em>.</p><p>Every yelp embedded itself in Todd’s blood until he was gasping, hard as he’d ever been, desperate to see and touch and <em>taste</em>. Visions of Dirk stretched out across the empty blackness of his dark room. What was he <em>doing?</em> What was taking him apart? Was he fucking into someone’s mouth? Or was he reaching the end of a handjob that had started sleepy and languid, speeding up bit by bit until he couldn’t hold it together any more?</p><p>This is where Todd’s creativity put up a wall, protecting him from things he didn’t want to imagine. But it was enough.</p><p>More than enough.</p><p>He could’ve stopped himself. Maybe if he’d been a better person – a better friend – he wouldn’t have wrapped his hand around his own dick and started rutting into his fist, ravenously following the punishing rhythm set by Dirk’s moans. But it was all too easy to picture. His beautiful Dirk, disheveled hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, gripping him tightly and giving as good as he got. Todd was sure his heart would give out. Lost in the memory of their kiss, pounding recklessly into his hand, he heard Dirk’s final anguished cry. Todd came like it was being ripped out of him.</p><p>Panting, spent, he collapsed and fell into a confused half-sleep that lasted until well after noon.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>By Monday night Todd was out of excuses. He’d managed to avoid Dirk most of Sunday by claiming he wanted to rewrite an essay. Monday morning he was up early and wasted most of the morning doing crosswords in the on-campus cafe. Classes managed to take his mind off things for a little while. But by sundown Todd needed to talk to someone – anyone he hadn’t jerked off to in the last 48 hours – to restore some normalcy to his life. So he logged in at the computer center after his last class and IMed Farah.</p><p>
  <strong>Hey</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>What are you up to right now?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Nothing special.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Why?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’m bored.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I need out of the house.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Wanna hang out?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’m about to meet up with a bunch of</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>folks from the security team. You can come</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>along if you want. You know most of them.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sounds perfect.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Cops were very much not Todd’s thing.</p><p>Farah, Tina, Hobbes, Ken, and Bart, however, were nothing like cops. They, along with a handful of other workstudy students, mostly checked IDs of people going into the dorms and reported any big things like fires or riots to the Real Police.  Now and then they'd get some overzealous fuckwit, but those types never lasted more than a few weeks.  Ken was in charge of training and brooked no idiots, bless him.</p><p>Inside the cheap chain donut shop (could they be more trite?), taking up four tables by the window, were a handful of students arranged around a man who looked to be in his middle 30s. He was familiar, though Todd couldn’t place him. Maybe he’d seen him around campus or something.</p><p>Todd pulled a chair up to the group and flopped down next to Hobbes, who gave him a genial slap on the back. One of the students he didn’t know was retelling some incident from the night before that completely failed to keep Todd’s interest. Damn, it was good to be able to zone out.</p><p>When the laughs died down, the older man introduced himself.</p><p>“Hi, I’m Mack.” He held out a hand across the table for Todd to shake. “I don’t think we’ve met. You’re not one of the security team, are you?”</p><p>Todd snapped back to the present moment. “Uh, no. Um, I’m Todd. I’m friends with these folks here. Is it okay if I hang out with you guys?”</p><p>Mack grinned at him. That’s when it clicked. The hawk-faced man from the bar. The one who’d been staring at Dirk like he was lunch. His hair was different now, which always threw Todd off.</p><p>“Fine by me," Mack said. "Not for me to say, anyway. I’m just treating my workers here to a celebratory coffee now that I’ve been working with them for a month.” The unnerving grin deepened. His beady eyes remained fixed on Todd.</p><p>“You’re Svlad’s friend, aren’t you? I think I saw you two together last week.”</p><p>Todd could hear Bart’s teeth grind from four feet away.</p><p>“Vlad? No, I don’t know anyone named Vlad.”</p><p>“<em>Svlad.</em> Cjelli?  Thin guy, English, wears a lot of expensive jackets? Turns tricks, apparently? He hangs around the dispatch office sometimes.”</p><p>“<strong>Dirk</strong> is my friend,” Bart said. Her tone was full of menace. Todd leaned back instinctively, to put a few more inches between them.</p><p>“Oh, hey, no worries, I don’t care,” Mack said. “<em>Dirk</em>, right. I looked him up out of curiosity when I started seeing him around the office so much. He changed his name after the kidnapping, didn’t he?”</p><p>“<em>Kidnapping??</em>” Todd’s voice broke halfway through the word he hadn’t intended to speak aloud.</p><p>Farah had ahold of his wrist. Bart was visibly shaking, her face a neutral mask that was more unnerving than if she’d looked furious.</p><p>“Yeah, man, didn’t you know? He was scooped up by some whacko named Priest. Was locked in the guy’s basement for years. His parents were killed by a drunk driver while he was missing. Explains a lot, if you ask me. Kid gets buggered by some pedo, finally escapes, and finds out his parents are dead. No wonder he ended up a faggot whore. Poor kid never had a chance.”</p><p>Bart slugged him with a brutal overhand punch. Todd heard the man’s nose break. Mack screamed. Hobbes screamed. Mack clapped his hands to his face, blood oozing between his fingers and dripping down his wrists to soak the sleeves of his shirt. Students were shouting and clearing out. Farah had Todd by the arm and was pulling him backwards toward the door.</p><p>“You leave him the fuck alone.” Bart stood over the bleeding man. “Don’t even say his name, or next time I’ll fucking kill you.” She leaned low to look him dead in the eye. “That’s a promise.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>“Dirk Gently is the name under which I now trade. There are certain events in the past, I'm afraid, from which I would wish to disassociate myself."</em><br/>
<em>"Absolutely, I know how you feel. Most of the fourteenth century, for instance, was pretty grim," agreed Reg earnestly.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency</span></strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If any part of this chapter or work has left you struggling, <i>please</i> seek appropriate help.  You’re NOT alone.  Reach out to someone you trust if you're having trouble looking for help.  Or reach out to me, if that's easier.  I care so, so much about your wellbeing.  (Truly.) </p><p>The Great and Terrible Google tells me that stoplight parties started around 2000 in Albany, NY.  It seemed fitting that Dirk would randomly happen to know the guy who invented them, because of course he would.</p><p>Any resemblance of OCs to persons living or dead is <i>purely</i> coincidental.  I cannot stress this enough.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW/CWs for this chapter include:<br/>•	adult language<br/>•	police<br/>•	homophobic slurs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Words used carelessly, as if they did not matter in any serious way, often allowed otherwise well-guarded truths to seep through."<br/><strong>Douglas Adams,</strong> <strong><span class="u">The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul</span></strong></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p> </p><p>Farah had grabbed a blanket from her trunk and shoved it into Todd’s hands before they left the coffee shop. He rubbed the edges of it between his fingers the entire silent ride. Now it lay under his still hands as he stared stupidly into the trees at the edge of the students’ parking lot.</p><p>“You were supposed to put it around you,” Farah said.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“The blanket. If you’re feeling cold.”</p><p>“No, I’m sweating. God, I need fresh air. Can I open a window?” he asked, already rolling it down.</p><p>There was a part of Todd’s mind that knew he’d had a shock. It was like trying to listen in on an argument in a neighbor’s basement: muffled, angry shouting that he couldn’t make sense of. He let his neck go limp and looked without enthusiasm at the sagging fabric of the car’s roof.</p><p>Farah watched an owl sitting on a low branch a few yards off. She let several minutes go by.</p><p>“You okay?” she asked.</p><p>Todd looked at her from the corner of his eye without moving his head from the headrest. “I’m not the one who needs to be okay,” he replied.</p><p>She put a hand over his. He sat up straight then, scooting to the edge of the seat and swinging around to face her fully.</p><p>“Did everyone know but me?”</p><p>“I had no idea. I don’t think anybody did, except maybe Bart.”</p><p>Todd frowned. “But you knew <em>something</em> was up. You kept asking me about him, about how we got along.” He drummed his fingers on his knee for a moment. “The first week I lived with him, you said he looked better than he did before. What did you mean by that? What did you <em>think</em> he was going through?”</p><p>Farah blew out a long breath. “I knew he was smart but wasting his talents by getting drunk and high all the time. I knew he was only really sober around Bart, and that he threw big parties with money that seemed to come from nowhere. I knew that he slept around with no regard for his own safety. That he sold study guides to struggling students. And he looked like crap, <em>all</em> of the time. You’re doing him some good, I think.”</p><p>“Do you really think he’s... Shit, what word do I use for a guy? The thing – the thing Mack said.”</p><p>“Doing sex work?”</p><p>“That, yeah.”</p><p>She took the time to consider it fully. “Would it be a problem?”</p><p>“Not really. He’s his own person. But, like.” He didn’t know how to put it into words. The fear for Dirk’s wellbeing. The fear of... something rife with blistering sadness. “I dunno. It’s not really for me to say.”</p><p>“For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think he’s doing sex work, no.”</p><p>“But the rest of it?”</p><p>“I think you’ll have to talk to Dirk about it.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He’d told Farah he’d be fine walking back on his own, that he needed the chance to think. In truth he spent hours wandering up and down the streets around their house with no real aim other than staying out.</p><p><em>Feet in motion, brain in motion</em>, his dad liked to say. Walking in the dark gave him time to evaluate things without distraction.</p><p>He should tell Dirk what happened. Warn him that everybody on the security team knew about his past so that he wouldn’t be blindsided by it coming from a stranger. Tell him that – while he wasn’t sure he could break noses – he’d do <em>anything</em> to keep Dirk from harm. Anything. He made long lists of things he wanted to say. He wrote and rewrote scripts of how the conversation would go.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hi Todd, how was coffee with Farah? </em>
</p><p><em>Great. I had cocoa with whipped cream. By the way, everybody knows you have a traumatic past. So that’s a thing people are going to gossip about now. Also maybe stay away from Mack.</em> <em>I’m so sorry and I don’t know what to do or say.</em></p><p>
  <em>No worries, Todd, old chap. All’s well that ends well, eh wot? No harm done, my good man. Now I’m off to play some cricket. Pip pip and all that. Ta!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so maybe his impressions of Dirk weren’t very good. But he couldn’t let himself imagine Dirk sad. Or angry. Or hurt. So he walked until he was sure Dirk was asleep and let himself into the house well after midnight.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Todd?” Dirk knocked lightly on the door. “Todd, do you want an omelet? I found some eggs that aren’t past expiry. You’ve got class at ten today, is that right? So there’s time for an omelet if you want one. Shall I go start it?” A pause. “Right, I’ll get started and you come out when you’re ready.”</p><p>Todd considered crawling under the mattress and playing dead.</p><p>But if Dirk could be chipper when... when he had every reason <em>not</em> to be, then Todd had no excuses. Ever. For the rest of his life.</p><p>He rolled out and got dressed.</p><p>Dirk was whizzing around the kitchen, humming to himself as he practically skipped from the fridge to the stove to the sink to the counter and back. Todd wanted to cry.</p><p>“Ah, there you are! Up at last.” Dirk winked at him and motioned to a chair in front of a place setting at the table. “Busy night?”</p><p>Todd’s thoughts were the sound of TV static.</p><p>“Oh, well, never mind. None of my business anyhow.”</p><p>“Uh, no. Sorry, I’m not really awake yet. Just coffee. With Farah. And some people. And. ...and then I went for a walk.”</p><p>“Late at night? Is that safe?”</p><p>“Probably not. I felt like stretching my legs.”</p><p>Dirk beamed at him. “We’ve all been there, I suppose. Orange juice?”</p><p>“Uh. Thanks, yeah. I’ll get it, though. You got your hands full.” Having a task to focus on made the next part easier. He didn't have it in him to ruin Dirk’s morning, but he could maybe help push him toward healthier behaviors until the right moment presented itself to talk about bigger things.</p><p>“Hey, so, I’ve noticed you’re a morning person,” he said. “At least, you seem to be happier and have more energy. Were you drinking last night?”</p><p>“Would it upset you if I were?”</p><p>“No. Humor me for a second, though. I have a theory. Were you?”</p><p>“As it happens, no. I got caught up in reading.”</p><p>Dirk slid a congealed mass of scrambled eggs onto Todd’s plate. On a better day, he would’ve smiled at how little it resembled an omelet.</p><p>“And now you’re practically dancing around the kitchen.”</p><p>“Your theory is that reading makes me dance?”</p><p>“Haven’t you noticed that you feel so much better when you’re sober? Like, I’m not trying to change your habits or whatever – do what makes you happy, I truly don’t care – but, like. Do you <em>know</em> that you’re happier now than you are when you’re hungover?”</p><p>Lips pressed together, Dirk looked prim and affronted. Then he grinned and smacked Todd lightly with the dishtowel. “You’re only saying that because I make you breakfast sometimes.”</p><p>“Tell you what, let’s make a bet. Spend a whole week sober – no booze, no drugs, none of that. And see how you feel. If I’m wrong then it’s not like it’ll hurt your liver to have a week off.”</p><p>Dirk twisted the towel for a moment. “Alright, you’re on. But I’m not making you any more breakfasts this week.” He waved the spatula at Todd. “I shouldn’t be the only one going without.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The next two days went by in a blissful rush. By the time Todd sprinted out the door for class Dirk had already been up long enough to have gone through several stacks of the papers he always seemed to be shuffling about.</p><p>Dirk didn’t go out on Thursday night. Instead he spent the time explaining the nuances of his “holistic philosophy” and how it related to something called panentheism – or the “stream of creation,” as he called it. Two hours later he was still talking with exuberant animation, having knocked his notes onto the floor countless times with enormous gestures as he talked.</p><p>Todd didn’t follow any of it. It sounded like exactly the kind of hippy bullshit a stoner would come up with while playing hacky sack. But it made Dirk happy, which made <em>Todd</em> happy, so he went on nodding as if any of it made sense.</p><p>“You should write all this down, man,” Todd said around eleven o’clock. Dirk had gotten up for a drink of water, having finally run out of air. “Sounds pretty smart to me.”</p><p>Dirk leaned in the doorway of the kitchen. “It’s what I’m doing my master’s thesis on.”</p><p>“Your thesis? You’re in grad school? How did I not know that until now?”</p><p>“Didn’t you notice I’m not enrolled in any coursework? I’ve taken all the classes for a philosophy degree. I’m using this semester to work on my thesis. It’s been slow going.” Dirk returned to the couch and sat next to Todd. “I suppose you could say I’m paying for the privilege of not graduating yet. Though I’ll need another semester if I don’t get my arse in gear soon. Did I not tell you about it before? Could’ve sworn I had.”</p><p>Todd cleared his throat and didn’t dwell on Dirk’s nonexistent bubble of personal space. “So, like, you write this thing and then you’re done? You move back home or –”</p><p>“I think I’ll stay in America,” Dirk said, not noticing Todd’s strangled expression. “I rather like the food here.”</p><p>All Todd could do was nod. He <em>would</em> tell Dirk about Mack’s blabbing – he owed it to him as a housemate and friend – but the moment was never right. Certainly this moment was entirely wrong. Yet if he didn’t hurry the moment would become catastrophically irreparable.</p><p>He resolved to make Dirk breakfast in the morning to make up for the temporary omission.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Friday morning he was out of bed and in the kitchen by 5:45, determined to surprise Dirk with breakfast despite being able to count on one hand – possibly even one finger – the number of times he’d willingly gotten up before 6 am. A quick Metacrawler search before bed had suggested “beans on toast” as the sort of thing English people ate for breakfast, without being nearly as complex or greasy as whatever the hell a “fry up” was. A can of beans and some bread, though. That was within his reach.</p><p>The finished product reminded him a lot of shit on a shingle, if he was honest. </p><p>It was a little after six when Dirk strolled out of his room. He halted mid-step to see Todd beaming from the other side of the table.</p><p>Confusion, then sheer pleasure, then anguish crossed Dirk’s face. He put his hand over his mouth, red eyes brimming with tears, his brows knit tightly in pain. His body started to crumple, as if protecting his vital organs from a fatal blow.</p><p>Todd was on his feet in an instant.</p><p>“<em>Jesus!</em> Are you okay?” He threw arm around Dirk and led him to the couch. They sat as one. Todd tucked Dirk’s head into the crook of his neck and held him there, letting the hot tears gather on his collar.</p><p>Dirk’s hands remained clamped over his mouth, his head shaking “no” minutely against Todd’s shoulder.</p><p>“It’s okay. Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” He rocked slightly, the way he always had whenever Amanda’s seizures had exhausted her to the point of tears. “C’mon, sit back with me.” He leaned against the back of the sofa and let Dirk curl up against him, face still hidden in his shirt, and stroked his silky auburn hair. He hummed softly, so low he could barely hear it in his own ears.</p><p>“If you want to talk, I’m here,” he said, when at last the silent sobs had tapered off. “If you want to just sit, or be alone – whatever you need. You can tell me and I’ll do everything I can.”</p><p>Dirk snuffled wetly. “Were you humming <em>Christmas carols</em>?”</p><p>Todd chuckled without humor. “Amanda says nobody can feel sad when singing carols. When she was little she used to come into my room whenever she had a nightmare and we’d sing Jingle Bells together until she was able to fall back asleep.”</p><p>“Aren’t you Jewish?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Dirk sat up and patted Todd awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ve made a mess of your shirt.” He got up to grab a tissue box from the entryway.</p><p>“Dude, that’s what pajamas are <em>for</em>,” Todd said. “Find me a pair of men’s sleep clothes that <em>aren’t</em> soaked in some kind of bodily fluid.”</p><p>“That’s horrid.”</p><p>“Right?”</p><p>Dirk giggled flatly, then flopped back down onto the sofa. “You must think I’m a lunatic,” he said.</p><p>“Not because of this. Wanna talk about it?”</p><p>“You made me breakfast.” Dirk trailed off, searching for words.</p><p>“Dude, you’re not hurting my feelings if you think it’s gross. Peanut butter on toast is also an option. That’s what I’m having.”</p><p>“No, it’s – the last time I had beans on toast was when I was... very small.”</p><p>Todd tried to keep his breathing even. His throat was tight and hot. He could feel his lip curl against the effort of maintaining composure. The imaginary muffled argument in the next-door neighbor’s basement became hysterical screams.</p><p>The words barely escaped his beartrap lungs. “Dirk, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean – I thought...” <em>Excuses make for poor apologies</em>, his mother’s voice reminded him. “I’m very sorry I hurt you.”</p><p>“Oh! No,” the tears started to well up again and Dirk pressed his lips together briefly. “No, nothing of the sort. I merely felt nostalgic, is all.” He flashed a terrible smile. “I’m sorry to have seemed ungrateful. It’s lovely of you to make breakfast. I’m touched. Truly.”</p><p>“No, it was awful of me. I should’ve realized.” <em>Oh shit.</em></p><p>“Realized what?”</p><p><em>Stall for time</em>, Todd thought frantically. “Hmm?” he tried.</p><p>“Realized what, Todd?”</p><p>“That... you, uh. That you wouldn’t want to be reminded of home?” <em>Nice. Wedge that foot in good and tight. </em>“Y’know, because, um. You must be homesick. You would’ve made it for yourself before now if it was something you wanted, right? It was stupid of me.”</p><p>“...to try to do something nice?” Dirk leaned back against Todd’s shoulder again, as naturally and as beautifully as Todd could ever have wished for. “Yes, terribly presumptuous of you. Don’t do it again.”</p><p>Todd’s voice broke over a surprised laugh. Relief poured across his skin like a warm spring breeze. “No. No, of course not.”</p><p>He started to make a joke about bread crusts and water and choked on his own tongue. He managed a pained smile – or what he hoped was closer to a smile than a grimace.</p><p>“Where did you find British baked beans anyway?”</p><p>“What, do have special breakfast beans?”</p><p>“We have <em>perfectly ordinary</em> breakfast beans. But I’ve never seen them here.”</p><p>“Hm. So not just any beans can be put on toast, is what you’re saying?”</p><p>Dirk laughed, a sweet, crystalline chirp that sounded like the first birdsong of spring, or like the ice on a clear mountain stream breaking in the sunlight.</p><p>“You used the can of barbecue beans in the back of the cupboard, didn’t you?” he asked.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Right.” Dirk sprang to his feet, eyes glittering. “Peanut butter it is, then.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Todd wandered into his room thinking he’d flail at a group project they’d been assigned. Naturally none of his partners were online. Probably they were all still in class for the day. Like him, Tina had picked a course schedule that gave her Fridays off, which meant she was spending the day on AIM.</p><p> </p><p><strong>Toddy!</strong> </p><p>
  <strong>Eugh, can you not call me that??</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sorry, Toddy, it’s your name</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>forever now. ;D</strong>
</p><p><strong>Fine.</strong> </p><p>
  <strong>How’s Dirk doing?</strong>
</p><p><strong>Fine.</strong> </p><p>
  <strong>You’re maaaaaaad.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’m not mad.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’m worried.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And frustrated.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And maybe confused?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Alright, spill your guts so I can</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>lay some of my patented wisdom </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>on ya.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I haven’t told Dirk yet.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>That you’re in love with him?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>WHAT?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>No.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>God no.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>No way.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>About the thing that Mack said.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Somebody’s gonna say something </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>before long and I owe it to him to </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>tell him *myself* before he finds </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>out by accident that everybody </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>knows he’s been through some </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>shit. I feel like it’s my fault. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I shouldn’t have gone for coffee </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>with you guys.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Dude. My dude. My darling baby Toddy.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>You can’t see your face when his name</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>comes up, but we all can. Trust me. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>You’re not fooling anybody but yourself </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>if you think you’re not stupid in love</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>with that elegant disaster.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He’s not a disaster.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>What does it matter what I think </strong>
</p><p><strong>anyway? </strong> <strong>He’s all fabulous and... </strong></p><p><strong>whatever </strong> <strong>the hell he is. He deserves </strong></p><p><strong>someone </strong> <strong>who’s exciting and has any</strong></p><p><strong> idea how </strong> <strong>to date guys. Dudes are </strong></p><p><strong>way too </strong> <strong>complicated for me.</strong></p><p>
  <strong>Only because you all are so emotionally</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>constipated. If you’d just talk to each</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>other I guarantee you’d feel a lot better.</strong>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>No way. My life is on track to be a </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>mundane, unvarying slog through</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>unfulfilling jobs, shallow depression,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>and boring, BORING sex. Dirk deserves</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>better than that. Especially after</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>everything he’s been through already.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The guy’s sitting on a vomit-orange sofa</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>at this very moment reading something</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>in Latin. That’s not someone who settles</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>for an asshole like me. I don’t want some</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>random bang-and-run with my housemate.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Not least of all because it’d be awkward</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>as hell afterward.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Why not let <em>him </em>decide what’s best for him?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>You can’t know what he likes unless you ask.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He likes the vomit sofa, doesn’t he?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Maybe he likes vomit people as well.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Aside: if you’re vomiting orange you</strong>
</p><p><strong>probably should get that checked out.</strong> </p><p>
  <strong>I dunno. I’ll think about it I guess.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Do. Or stop mainlining orange soda.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Har har.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>By late afternoon Todd’s energy was beginning to flag. He was contemplating whether he’d rather take a proper nap or pretend to look at a chapter of required reading before falling asleep when there was a stern knock at the front door.</p><p>“I’ll get it,” Todd said, stretching. Dirk waved a hand noncommittally. While he didn’t bother to look up, Todd knew he was paying keen attention. Knocks at the door were nearly always for Dirk, but he seemed to like the ceremony of having someone else answer the door for him.</p><p>On the stoop were two men in dark suits. The younger one had black hair and a faint goatee. His suit was crisply ironed; his manner a bit antsy. The older one, grey and beginning to bald, had the paunchy, threadbare look of someone who was years past being merely weary of his job.</p><p>“Svald Cjelli?” asked the younger one. He glanced down to a clipboard in his hands. “Alias Dirk Gently?”</p><p>Inside the house, Todd heard Dirk stand so fast that he knocked the chair over.</p><p>“Who may I say is calling?” Todd asked in return, blocking the door as best he could with his frame.</p><p>“City police,” the older man said. “This is Detective Estevez,” he indicated the younger cop, “and I’m Detective Zimmerfield. We’d like to speak to Svlad Cjelli.”</p><p>Todd hated cops.</p><p>He hated their arrogance. He hated their blunt, sexist, abusive, self-righteous racism. He hated their guns and their psychopathic adherence to rules only when it suited them. However he felt about them, though, Todd was not someone who stood up to authority well. If he weren’t protecting Dirk, he’d cave without a second thought.</p><p>Fury he didn’t know he was holding turned him to ice. “With regard to what?” he asked, hoping Dirk was smart enough to bolt out the back before he was spotted through the open door that Todd couldn’t effectively block.</p><p>Were cops like vampires? Did they have to wait for an invitation?</p><p><em>Would throwing rice at them work? </em> Todd wondered, edging toward hysteria.</p><p>Zimmerfield raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Are you hiding something?” Estevez asked.</p><p>“No, my girlfriend is laid out naked on the kitchen table and I’m eager to get back to lunch,” Todd said, wondering what force of insanity was speaking through him.</p><p>“Todd.” Dirk was behind him, a light hand on his lower back. “It’s alright.”</p><p>He turned to see the cheap salesman’s smile plastered goofily on Dirk’s face.</p><p>“Svlad Cjelli?” Estevez asked again.</p><p>“I am.” Todd recognized the overfriendly lilt to his speech that only came through when he was stressed.</p><p>“We have a warrant to search the premises for evidence of intellectual property theft and solicitation.”</p><p>“You think I’m stealing other people’s ideas and sleeping with them?” Dirk asked, innocently. Todd snorted.</p><p>“We’re <em>asking</em> for your cooperation,” Zimmerfield said as he readjusted his sagging pants. The casual gesture – no doubt well-practiced over many decades to appear careless and slovenly – momentarily revealed the shoulder holster under his jacket. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than a quick visit.”</p><p>“Of course, gentlemen. Do come in.” Dirk gestured to the interior, though he made little effort to move out of the way, forcing both men to squeeze past him. The crocodile grin lingered on his lips as Estevez passed through the threshold.</p><p>Todd slumped onto the sofa in what he hoped was a defiant way.</p><p>“Tea?” Dirk offered. “Or coffee?”</p><p>“Ooh, you got any of those British cookies that taste like grownup animal crackers?” Estevez asked in an unexpected display of personality.</p><p>Dirk, pleased to be able to please, fished out a box of tea biscuits and laid them on the counter with a flourish.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The search was oddly respectful. Estevez and Zimmerfield looked through every cupboard and book with efficient meticulousness, placing each item back where it belonged as they finished with it.</p><p>They made steady, silent progress through the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and Todd’s bedroom. Dirk's room was, intentionally or not, left for last.</p><p>Todd had only seen inside it a handful of times. He knew it was a constant mess and that Mona did little more than look for biohazards. Todd was always afraid that she’d wind up trapped in there, forever fused into the furniture by the sheer amount of pandemonious clutter. Today, however, it was tidy. Organized. No shoes used as beer koozies, no jackets doubling as window curtains, no mugs repurposed for ashtrays. It smelled faintly of lemon rather than burnt oregano for once.</p><p>Thud, napping angrily on Dirk’s pillow, was the only thing that looked out of place – a disheveled splotch of orange fur in an otherwise tastefully colorful room.</p><p>The detectives worked their way through the built-in bookshelves, the desk, the wardrobe, the nightstand. Every time they found a sex toy or bottle of something gelatinous Dirk grinned a little wider.</p><p>"Why is your room clean?" Todd asked.</p><p>"I had a hunch."</p><p>"You had a hunch that cops would come search your room for evidence that you're a hooker?"</p><p>"Not that exactly, no."</p><p>Thud startled awake when Estevez reached for the duvet. He swiped at the detective, leaving a long red gash down the man’s arm. Estevez swore. Zimmerfield frowned.</p><p>Todd smirked.</p><p>Thud yowled menacingly from atop the mattress, back arched and ears pressed flat. Todd felt a pang of camaraderie.</p><p>“We’ll shoot it if we have to,” Zimmerfield said, as if bored.</p><p>Todd opened his mouth to begin shouting abuse, not caring if it came out the least bit intelligible.</p><p>“You’ll do no such thing,” Dirk said before Todd could get going. His voice had a commanding, minatory quality Todd had never heard before. Todd shrank a little, glad it wasn't him Dirk was glaring at.</p><p>“Why are you even here?” Todd demanded.</p><p>“We got an anonymous tip from a reputable source that Mr. Cjelli has been stealing exams from professors and selling them to students.” Estevez said, rubbing at the gouge along his arm.</p><p>“And that he may also be soliciting sex in exchange for money or favors,” Zimmerfield added.</p><p>“Anonymous <em>and </em>reputable? Either you know who it is or you don’t,” Todd said.</p><p>The dots connected.</p><p>“It’s that asshole Mack, isn’t it?”</p><p>“As we said,” Zimmerfield replied, “an <em>anonymous </em>source.”</p><p>“A <em>reputable</em> anonymous source,” Estevez added.</p><p>“A reputable anonymous source,” Zimmerfield repeated.</p><p>“This is fucking bullshit,” Todd nearly shouted. “My friend broke that asshole’s nose for calling Dirk a ‘faggot.’ So now that bigoted piece of shit is acting like a spoiled brat to – what? Get some kind of revenge?”</p><p>“Move the cat or we will,” Estevez said.</p><p>Dirk, meanwhile, had turned his attention to Todd. His face was unreadable. “You haven’t asked about the other name,” he said, ignoring the detectives completely.</p><p>“I...”</p><p>“<em>British Guy?</em>” A man called into the house from the front steps. “Hey, I’m here for your ‘<em>services’</em> if you know what I mean.” He laughed to himself. “Can I come in?”</p><p>“Hugo?” Todd called, not able to break away from Dirk’s stony disapproval.</p><p>“<em>Fruitcake!</em>” Hugo said happily, sauntering into the bedroom. “Oh, shit, a party.” He raised his hands in a gesture of apology. “You’re all here to see British Guy too? That’s cool. I can wait.”</p><p>Hugo sat on the edge of the bed and gathered Thud into his arms as easily as if the grizzled old tomcat were a mild kitten. “Hey Garfield! Good to see you, buddy!”</p><p>He looked up from scritching under Thud’s chin to find three astonished faces – and Dirk – staring at him. “Uh, sorry.” He stood, taking the cat with him. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll go wait in the living room. You guys are probably gonna want this room, huh? Have fun!” He winked and pointed on his way out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Under Dirk’s bed they found the pile of notebooks filled with exam papers hidden behind a cache of children’s books. On top was a boardbook with a white rabbit on the cover.</p><p>“The stolen exams,” Estevez said, kicking the other things back under the bed.</p><p>“The stolen exams,” Zimmerfield confirmed.</p><p>“<em>Not</em> stolen.” Dirk insisted. “I use old exams and class notes to produce study guides. I then sell the study guides. It’s all educated guesswork, not theft or some psychic ability.”</p><p>“Then why do we have students saying you produced the <em>exact </em>exam they were given, word for word? You couldn’t do that unless you’d broken in and stolen the exam ahead of time. Or are you claiming you’re psychic?”</p><p>“<em>Are </em>you psychic?” Estevez asked.</p><p>“I said I wasn’t.”</p><p>Zimmerfield motioned for Estevez to gather the notebooks up. “Well we’ve got enough here between these and meeting your <em>client</em> in there to bring you to the station for further questioning. I can cuff you or you can walk with us peacefully.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Todd watched the detectives bundle his best friend into an unmarked squad car. Hugo stood next to him, still holding the cat. Dirk, expressionless mask still in place, hadn’t looked at Todd even once as he was led out and into the vehicle. He stared straight ahead, for once silently passive.</p><p>When they were out of sight Todd punched Hugo in the arm as hard as he dared.</p><p>“<em>What the FUCK</em> <em>you fucking HOMOPHOBIC DOUCHE</em>,” he roared.</p><p>Hugo put Thud down. The cat sauntered off around the corner of the house, in search of mice to murder or children to maul.</p><p>“Dude, I’m not homo... um.”</p><p>“First you terrorize me for <em>months</em>, then the next thing I know you’re paying Dirk for <em>god only knows what</em>, and then you get him <em>fucking arrested</em> by propositioning him right in front of the cops. You’re unfuckingbelievable.”</p><p>“Oh jeez, I didn’t think it was illegal or anything! I mean, I didn’t want anyone to know he was teaching me to read, but I swear I had no idea it was against the law.”</p><p>“Teaching you – !” Todd stammered. “Wait, <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I never learned to read.” He shrugged. “I’m super good at sports so I didn’t need to. British Guy’s been tutoring me. He said I need it in case I can’t play lacrosse forever. I told him that didn't make any sense. It’s been <em>awesome</em>, though. Last week I read a whole <em>book</em>.”</p><p><em>The books under Dirk’s bed</em>. Children’s handwriting workbooks and reading primers.</p><p>“What book?” Todd’s life was too fucking surreal to process, so he landed on the simplest detail he could handle.</p><p>“It was about bunnies. Dude, I <em>love</em> bunnies.”</p><p>Todd pinched the bridge of his nose. “Saturday night? During the party?”</p><p>“Yeah. He said it would be quieter to do the lesson in his room.”</p><p>“And then you stayed the night.”</p><p>“No? I went home. Reading’s <em>exhausting</em>.”</p><p>Todd couldn’t be bothered to wonder who <em>had </em>stayed overnight. There was too much else going on that needed his immediate attention.</p><p>“But you’re bi. I saw your wristband.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah? Aren’t you? Ohhhhhh, is that what you meant by homowhatever? Like, half-gay? Because yeah.”</p><p>“You’re – <em>you </em>are bi?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“You call me ‘<em>fruitcake’</em> constantly! What the <em>hell</em>, dude?”</p><p>Hugo merely blinked at him. “Like, isn’t that what gay guys do? Call each other ‘Mary’ and ‘queen’ and whatever? I dunno, man, you’re the only other bi guy I know. I thought...”</p><p>Which, frankly, that he thought anything at all came as a shock. <em>He’s not an asshole</em>, Todd realized. <em>He’s just a fucking moron.</em></p><p>“Hugo, you’re something else.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah. Listen, I’m gonna need your help to get Dirk – ‘British Guy’ – out of jail.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“It can be very dangerous to see things from somebody else's point of view without the proper training.”<br/><strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">Mostly Harmless</span></strong></p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Did you know there was a time before everybody used Google?  True story!  It was only one among several search engines that were popular in the late nineties to early 2000s.  Metacrawler was one of those.  (Ironically, Google tells me that <a href="http://www.metacrawler.com">Metacrawler still exists</a>.  It doesn’t appear to have changed much in the last two decades, either.)</p><p>I have no idea how warrants or arrests work, nor do I honestly care enough to look it up.  Thank you for your suspension of disbelief.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW/CWs for:<br/>•	police<br/>•	homophobic slurs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <p>
    <em>There's always a moment when you start to fall out of love, whether it's with a person or an idea or a cause, even if it's one you only narrate to yourself years after the event: a tiny thing, a wrong word, a false note, which means that things can never be quite the same again.</em>
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    <strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">The Salmon of Doubt</span></strong>
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</blockquote><hr/><p> </p><p>The gaggle of them made for a hell of a sight: Todd, Farah, Mona, Tina, Hobbs, Bart, Ken, Hugo, Panto, Silas, and four of the Tri-Rhos, all holding papers and wearing scowls. Punks, drama kids, cop kids, rich kids, queers, and anarchic frat boys – with various overlaps depending on the person – stood together in the police station lobby like a John Hughesian police procedural.</p><p>“That’s not how the law works,” the cop behind the desk told them. “You don’t just show up <em>en masse</em> to show support for someone who’s been arrested. The law isn’t democratic, for chrissakes.”</p><p>Bart and one of the Tri-Rhos stood at the head of the group. Martin, Todd thought the guy's name was, though they’d been introduced as a group and it was oddly difficult to keep them straight given how starkly different they were. They were the least likely frat boys Todd had ever seen, as if someone had scooped up townies and thrust them into leather jackets, given them a handful of piercings apiece, and released them into the student population just to keep things interesting.</p><p>Bart smiled unpleasantly at the cop behind the desk. “We’re here to provide evidence,” she said, ignoring the officer’s grimace. “How about you take our statements so we can leave.”</p><p>It had taken less than an hour to get them all assembled. Todd had called Farah, Hugo called the Tri-Rhos, and from there it snowballed. Now they were all milling about and grinning at various harried-looking cops who kept shooting sideways glances at one another. At last they were allowed to sit down, one at a time, with a pair of young cops who – probably as part of hazing – had to listen to their rambling statements.</p><p>Mona brought copies of study guide drafts and notes that she’d been fishing out of the trash for the last two years.</p><p>“I thought it was a shame to throw them out,” she theater-whispered to the cops. “He put so much work into them. I thought of it as a tip, in case I ever took those classes. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.  He's very sweet, you know.  We met in group therapy years ago and I liked him right away.  He's got a way of making you feel you've been lifelong friends.”</p><p>Panto and Silas had study guides they’d purchased in the past, some of which also matched recent exams almost verbatim while predating them by several semesters.</p><p>The security kids gave matching statements about Mack’s behavior at work toward the female employees, they way he revealed he’d been snooping in Dirk’s file and then shared private student information, and, of course, that Bart had decked him less than a week ago for being a foul-mouthed bigot. The officers, to their credit, nodded gleefully at Bart’s vigorously detailed recount of breaking Mack’s nose.</p><p>“He needed punching,” she concluded with a shrug.</p><p>Hugo and the Tri-Rhos had great sheaves of crumpled notepaper, covered in childish handwriting and correction marks in Dirk’s characteristic loopy scrawl.</p><p>Todd, meanwhile, paced. He was unable to contribute despite being Dirk’s housemate and the one who, at least theoretically, should know the most about him. But if anything he’d made things <em>worse</em> by not warning Dirk that the kidnapping he'd endured had become campus gossip. So instead Todd wore a rut in the floor and bit at his cuticles.</p><p>It took six hours to get Dirk released. Todd suspected the increasingly alarming commentary from the Tri-Rhos about how hungry they were may have sped the process up a little.</p><p>“We’re not pressing charges,” Estevez said as he led Dirk out to his fan club. “Kid, you have been through <em>enough </em>in this life without us harassing you for being invested in other people’s success. This Mack guy, though. Don’t you worry.”</p><p>Estevez pointed at Bart on his way back to his office. “We’ll get him. You’ve got my word. You wouldn’t <em>believe</em> the stuff we found on this shitbag.”</p><p>Bart grinned and put an arm around Dirk’s waist. “C’mon. I’ll drive you home.”</p><p>There was a murmur of subdued, congratulatory greetings from the group as they parted to give Bart space. Dirk’s expression was the same bland, blank nothing it had been when he was being driven away in the squad car. Todd's heart leapt to see him free, despite how rumpled and wan he looked in the industrial lighting of the station foyer.</p><p>“Do they all know?” Dirk asked Bart wearily.                                                                            </p><p>“Yeah,” Bart said. “We all came out to help.”</p><p>Then Dirk’s eyes landed on Todd. “The bet is off,” he said, barely audible. “I don’t make deals with liars who are only kind to me out of pity.”</p><p>Todd’s stomach went leaden.</p><p>“Party at mine tomorrow night!” Dirk went on, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. “As my way of saying thanks.”</p><p>Hugo and the Tri-Rhos cheered. The rest, stealing glances at Todd, managed a subdued, nervous hurrah.</p><p>“I think you’d better stay with us tonight,” Silas said. “Panto sleeps in my room anyway, so your old one is free.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The smell of hundreds of young adults with questionable hygiene was high on the list of things Todd did not miss about dorm life. He missed the camaraderie, the easy access to campus info and events, the wild ways people decorated their rooms. The sensory overload, though – the smells, the loud music and shouting, the constant press of strangers – those things he didn’t miss.</p><p>He settled into a saggy beige couch in the dorm suite’s common room and thought longingly of the awful orange sofa at home.</p><p><em>Was</em> it still his home? Would Dirk kick him out? Would he even want to stay if Dirk hated him?</p><p>Todd sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.</p><p>“Do not worry too much about it, friend,” Panto said, snipping happily away at some doily-looking thing. Paper snow gathered at his feet. “Dirk has wanted you to live with him from the first.”</p><p>“How would you know anything about it?”</p><p>“He said this to me.”</p><p>“You gotta give me more details than that, man.”</p><p>Silas sat with his feet across Panto’s lap, hands behind his head. “We <em>may </em>have orchestrated getting you booted from the dormitory.”</p><p>“I figured as much.”</p><p>“You did?”</p><p>“Look, it’s fine. I’m mad but I’ll get over it. But seriously, Pon – <em>Panto</em>,” he corrected. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>“I am friends with Bartine,” he said.</p><p>Todd frowned. <em>Who the hell is Bartine? </em></p><p><em>Bart</em>, he realized. <em>He means Bart. Must file “Bartine” away for the next time I want my ass kicked</em>.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“I am ashamed to say I asked for her assistance in finding a reason to have your room vacated.”</p><p>“The hell does that mean?”</p><p>“I asked him to see if anyone could dig up a copy of your student file from the security archives,” Silas said, “in case there was anything in there we could use. You didn’t exactly have any bad habits we could use as an excuse. I thought maybe there was something else we could leverage – some reason why you’re teetotal.”</p><p>“Well, you’re both assholes, just for the record,” Todd said. “But what – <em>ohhhh</em>. No, I get it now. Dirk was there when you looked at my file, wasn’t he?”</p><p>“He was interested in helping us find a way to be together,” Panto said. “And said he knew you would be fast friends if he could find a way to get you to be his home-companion.”</p><p>“Housemate, dude. We say housemate. Where on earth are you <em>from</em>?”</p><p>“Anyway,” Silas interrupted, “you shot yourself in the foot in the end, with your homophobia. ‘<em>The thought of gay sex disgusts me.</em>’ You said that, clear as day, and you can’t deny it because we all heard you. You never belonged in Pride housing in the first place.  You’re probably just some pervert here to leer at the dykes.”</p><p>“That’s not – actually, you know what? I don’t have the energy for this. I’m borrowing your room phone, Panto. I need to talk to Farah.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you get back to the dorm okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I have some questions for you.”</p><p>“Anything I should be concerned about? You sound mad.”</p><p>“I am. I’m mad at me and everyfuckingbody around me. I’m calling to figure out if I’m mad at <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“Oh...kay?”</p><p>“Why did you suggest I live with Dirk? Really. Give me the honest, completely true answer. No equivocating.”</p><p>“He needed a roommate. You needed a room. Besides, you dragged that suggestion out of me, remember?”</p><p>“Why <em>Dirk</em>, though? You’re not that close to him. You don’t party, you don’t smoke pot, you don’t go to him for tutoring or study guides. Your academic lives don’t overlap at all. From what I understand he spends most of his time in the dispatch office with Bart when you’re working. <em>How </em>did you know he needed a roommate?”</p><p>“I heard him say it. He was in the lobby – maybe a week before you were kicked out? – going on and on about how he wished he had someone drama-free, preferably someone queer, to help distract him.”</p><p>“Distract him?”</p><p>“At first I thought maybe he meant, like, euphemistically. You know. Like, ‘<em>distract</em>’ him. But when we were out that night and you were saying how much you needed a place to live, I thought... It dawned on me that maybe what he meant was someone to help him get clean.”</p><p>“You thought <em>I </em>was the guy for that job?”</p><p>“I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re always taking care of people. You care about people <em>so much.</em> You’re a jackass most of the time –”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“Anytime. You’re an asshole but you’re always carving out space for other people. You shy away from new things to avoid rocking the boat. You reduce yourself to almost nothing to make the people you care about feel loved. And Dirk, he’s just the opposite. He always wants to try new things, even to the point of self-harm. He’s desperate to <em>be</em> loved; he wants it so badly it follows him like an aura. I guess I thought you’d be a good fit for each other. Like maybe you’d help each other find a happy medium.”</p><p>“Wow. Um. I, uh. I have no idea what to say to that. So – wait, alright, back up a second here. Dirk was out in the middle of the lobby just... going on about how he needed a boring, queer roommate?”</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“And that didn’t strike you as strange?”</p><p>“Is he ever <em>not</em> strange?”</p><p>“Yeah, okay. It’s just...”</p><p>“Todd. <em>Talk to Dirk</em>. Like, really talk to him. Put on your big boy shorts and try communicating with each other for once.”</p><p>“Tina said nearly the same thing last week.”</p><p>“Did you do as she told you?”</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“That’s what I thought. Quit looking for other people to blame for your own stupidity.”</p><p>“You know I’m way too lazy for that.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a long walk from campus to the house. Not usually. Fifteen minutes, tops. Dragging his feet the whole way, it took Todd closer to an hour. He was too heavy with anxiety and guilt to do more than plod ponderously toward his (former?) home.</p><p>However unwelcome he might be, he at the very least needed to grab some clean clothes and his homework. Sure, it was cowardly to show up during the party when Dirk couldn’t properly yell at him or kick him out, but why start being brave now?</p><p>Upbeat music spilled out of the house and into a yard full of kitsch and smokers.</p><p>To his surprise, Hobbs met him at the door.</p><p>“Hey hi there!”</p><p>“Hey, Sher. Never thought I’d see you at one of these things.”</p><p>“I figured I’d be the one checking people at the door ‘cause it lets me keep an eye on Tina without having to mingle.”  He held up his wrist to show off a designated driver's band.</p><p>“Good thinking.”</p><p>Todd held out his wrist for his own DD band, using the time to scan the room. It was the usual crowd, plus a handful of people who’d been at the police station the day before. He noticed Ken and Hugo deep in conversation – if “deep” was the right word – next to the keg in the kitchen. Bart and the Tri-Rhos were shouting along to the music at the top of their lungs.</p><p>He spotted Dirk along the far wall, seated atop their dining table. A stranger's hand traced delicate circles over his ribs and chest where his navy shirt was unbuttoned. Sitting across his lap was a twinkly-looking hippy with rainbow-colored hair and dancer’s legs. He was pressing enthusiastic kisses into the underside of Dirk's jaw. Red-eyed, droop-lidded and blissed out, Dirk's color was high and his breathing looked uneven.</p><p>Todd was drawn in, eyes locked to the scene with both dread and longing. He was being a creep, he knew. The right thing to do would be to stop staring and head straight to his room for fresh clothes, not stand there and trace the long line of Dirk’s neck with his gaze. Maybe he could put on some headphones and try to do some homework.</p><p>He found himself walking over, unable to resist falling into Dirk's orbit.</p><p>“So the feckless housemate returns.” Dirk was over-enunciating, though it failed to cover the blurring of his consonants. He sent his partner along with a deep kiss. Todd cleared his throat when he caught a flash of tongue.</p><p>“Um. Hi,” Todd said once the rainbow hippy was gone. He willed his eyes to stay above Dirk’s exposed collarbone.</p><p>“Yes, hello,” Dirk said coldly. “Bold of you to come back during a party. You here to ruin it in some fashion? Or perhaps you’d like to complain about my habits?”</p><p>Todd sighed and pulled on his earlobe. “I’m so sorry, Dirk.” All the things he’d rehearsed evaporated.  "I hope you can forgive me," was all he could come up with.</p><p>“You <em>knew</em>,” Dirk hissed. “You <em>knew</em> how –” He pressed his trembling lips together for a moment. “How <em>broken</em> I am. You knew the worst part of my life was gossip for all the world to hear. I bet you had a great laugh, didn’t you? Poor orphaned Dirk, no wonder he’s a bender with an alcohol problem.”</p><p>“It wasn’t like that. I wanted to tell you. It just never felt like the right time and I had no idea what to say. You were having such a great week! I didn’t wanna ruin it.”</p><p>“Yes, well, it’s all about <em>your</em> comfort, isn’t it?” Dirk was well within Todd’s personal space now, finger hovering over the center of his chest like he’d poke Todd’s heart out if he could. “You never thought for a moment about how much it would hurt to find out you only <em>pretended</em> to care about my wellbeing. You’re a terrible person, Todd, and selfish.”</p><p>In other circumstances it would have taken up the whole of his attention, but transfixed as he was Todd took no notice of Dirk’s fingertips pressing into his skin. He took the discomfort for a broken heart.</p><p>Dirk’s voice was barely above a furious whisper. “I am able to stand on my own without anyone's charity or pity. You may think I make terrible decisions, but they are <em>my</em> decisions. I make the world a little better. And what do you do? Run away from anything the least bit difficult or novel?”</p><p>He shoved Todd then. Not hard. Not even hard enough to cause him to take a step backward. But the the rejection might as well have been a wrecking ball.</p><p>“Go on back to your comfortable life,” Dirk said. His face was red, his eyes a little clearer than they’d been when Todd first walked in. “Go enjoy your risk-free, conscience-free, <em>boring </em>existence and leave me alone.”</p><p>Todd backtracked, vision clouded. “Dirk, I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt.”</p><p>Defeated, he went outdoors for some fresh air before he could embarrass himself by dissolving into grief-laden tears.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Tina was outside, her silhouette unmistakable even in the small amount of light leant by the flickering porch light. Todd trudged over to say hi, hoping the distraction would ease the pain in his chest.</p><p>“Clove?” Tina offered, amiably. She held out a pack of dark brown cigarettes, one already lit and dangling from the corner of her mouth. It crackled noisily as she took a short drag.</p><p>“I don’t do nicotine.”</p><p>“There’s no nicotine in these.” She blew out a lungful of pleasantly spicy smoke. “They’re not addictive or anything. Just something fun, to pass the time.” She flipped the box shut and stowed it in her front shirt pocket. “No pressure, though. This isn’t some DARE ad where I’m weirdly keen on getting you hooked on smoking or whatever.”</p><p>A chuckle got stuck in Todd’s throat.  “You know what,” he said. “Yeah, actually. I <em>will </em>have one. Why not, right?”</p><p>“Here, take this one,” she pulled out one that was flipped the wrong way around, the tip rather than the filtered end sticking out. “This is the lucky one. See, when you start a new pack you pick one at random and turn it around for when you need your luck to turn around. You look rough, dude. I think you need it.”</p><p>Hobbs jogged down the steps to join them in the yard, nearly tripping over half of a broken lawn gnome on his way. “Whew, sure is getting to be a ruckus in there. Thought I’d get some air with you two.”</p><p>Tina lit the clove for him off the end of her own and handed it to him.</p><p>“I didn’t know you smoked,” Hobbs said.</p><p>“I don’t. Not usually. First time for everything, right?”</p><p>“Don’t inhale too deeply,” Tina warned. “These things will fuck up your lungs like <em>whoa</em>. Just little puffs, okay?”</p><p>Todd had been braced for the coughing. He’d seen enough TV to know nobody looked cool at first. What he hadn’t prepared for was the nausea or dizziness, like a panic attack and seasickness all at once. He doubled over with it, his lungs doing their best to violently expel the poison.</p><p>Hobbs smacked him on the back when he finally was able to stand up straight again. He swayed a little, uncomfortably lightheaded, and drew a breath to make some stupid joke to laugh it off, but found that he couldn’t form the words. Paralysis had taken over.</p><p>He had only long enough to think <strong><em>Oh no</em></strong> before he collapsed, the lightning in his skull overloading every nerve in a massive power surge. He thought he felt Hobbs catch him as he lost consciousness.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
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    <em>Curiously enough, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was <strong>Oh no, not again</strong>. Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the bowl of petunias had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the universe than we do now.</em>
  </p>
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    <strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy</span></strong>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(I’m very almost sorry, y’all.)</p><p>Something really elegant about the S1/S2 parallels, I think, is that in S1 Dirk is all enthusiasm, and he gives that chaotic, rainbow joy to a world-weary, sepia-toned Todd.  Then in S2, when Dirk’s had all his colors leeched out of him by BW and fear, it’s Todd who’s brimming over with enthusiasm.  They’re always bound in each other’s orbit, always giving one another what the other is missing.  They are, in a word, perfect.</p><p>The whole Rainbow thing has always been weird to me, because the line that goes something like, “you’ll have... puppies... or whatever you have” heavily implies that Dirk is bi, or at least able to consider the possibility (however reluctantly).  That’s actually the very moment I started googling fanfics for DGHDA, because I – despite knowing nothing about Dirk’s actor – had a difficult time believing anyone could picture him bi/pan or (gasp!) straight.  And, sure enough, I couldn’t find any Dirk/Rainbow fics.  I did, however, fall immediately in love with Brotzly.  So anyway, rambling story short, that’s why Rainbow is masc-presenting here – as a nod to the show but hopefully skirting a little closer to BBCA!Dirk’s comfort zone (as I imagine it, anyhow).</p><p>And of course you were right, those of you who said it couldn't be finished in one chapter.  I broke it into two to (1) be a bit of a bastard; and, (2) leave more room for resolution and celebration at the end.  Thank you for your patience.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(1) A brief shoutout to the idiot I was, who had no idea about anything, ever.  The amount of things I didn’t know about being gay in my teens and early twenties was, to borrow a term, stupefying.</p><p>(2) There is (poorly written) explicit adult content in the sixth / penultimate scene.  Please curate your experience accordingly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Anything that happens, happens.<br/>Anything that, in happening, causes something else to happen, causes something else to happen.<br/>Anything that, in happening, causes itself to happen again, happens again.<br/>It doesn’t necessarily do it in chronological order, though.<br/><strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">Mostly Harmless</span></strong></p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve got you,” the voices said.</p><p>“You’re safe.”</p><p>“We called for help.”</p><p>“The ambulance will be here soon.”</p><p>“Why isn’t he moving?”</p><p>“<em>Todd</em>?!”</p><p>The last one had a different flavor than the others.  It was scared.  It <em>slanted</em>.</p><p>None of what he saw looked familiar, as if he were trying to catch glimpses of a station he hadn’t paid for.  Snippets of sound.  Outlines.  Movement.  A guess at how many people were on the screen but not enough information to make sense of the narrative.</p><p>Aside from warm silk under his cheek the rest of his body felt encased in gelatin.</p><p>A soothing, kind thing was happening to his hair.  Exhaustion washed over him.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Coming back to himself after a seizure always happened gradually, like turning up a radio from silent to audible over the course of several hours. </p><p>His head was in Dirk’s lap.  Dirk’s fingers were in his hair, softly stroking lines above his ear as strangers checked his pulse and his pupils. </p><p>“This isn’t the first one, is it?” Dirk asked when Todd finally got him into focus.</p><p>Speaking was monumentally difficult. Todd formed a wobbly “no.”</p><p>“I’m guessing you’ve had epilepsy for years and never told anyone, is that right?”</p><p>Todd closed his eyes for several seconds, lifting his eyebrows in assent.</p><p>Dirk went on, gaining momentum along the way.  “It started sometime after you’d promised Amanda you’d stay away from her triggers, I’d wager.  The first one would’ve been somewhere nobody saw, probably when you were no longer a minor because you were able to keep your family from finding out.  And the more time went on, the harder it became to tell them.  But if your sister thought you were staying away from those things for yourself – because you had no choice – then you wouldn’t be the generous and loving big brother you promised her you’d be.  So instead you put yourself at risk by not telling anyone that you developed epilepsy as a teen.”</p><p>“Selfish.”</p><p>“Yes.  Also selfless, in your own way.  You cared so much about Amanda’s feelings that you put yourself in danger by failing to disclose a serious disorder.  Now look, the paramedics are here and they think you’ll be okay to follow up with a neurologist in a few days, but they can’t know for sure without taking you to the hospital.  Would you like to go to the ER to be checked out?  Are you in any pain?”</p><p>“No.”  It was still miles away from his normal voice.</p><p>“Alright then, let’s get you off the wet ground.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Within half an hour the house was empty of everyone else and the two were alone, with Todd tucked under Dirk’s duvet and Dirk seated on the edge of the bed.</p><p>Dirk had insisted Todd be brought into his room since Todd’s “bed” was a futon mattress on the ground.  As it turned out, one of the house’s residents collapsing on the lawn – followed by the other resident pressganging disgruntled frat boys to wrestle the former into pajamas and put him in bed – put a damper on the party.</p><p>Residual loopiness made it easy for Todd to feel at ease, helped along by the homey scent of Dirk’s aftershave that permeated the room.  He stretched gingerly, his limbs still not receiving all the signals but beginning to revive little by little, as if dozily waking up after a deep and disorienting afternoon nap.</p><p>“You’re like a detective,” Todd said, aware he was about to start rambling and unable to put the cork back in the bottle.  “Like a weird, sexy detective that figures people out.  But I’m <em>onto</em> you, man.  I know you manipulated things to get me to live with you.  And like, it’s okay.  You’re an okay guy.  Joke’s on you for getting your wish, though, huh?  You’re a much nicer guy than I deserve.  To, like, live with.”</p><p>“Panto told you?”</p><p>“Maybe.  I don’t always understand him?  Silas told me about it.  Have you ever thought about how truly strange Panto is?  What the hell kind of name is <em>Panto</em>?  It’s like a little kid looked around his bedroom and picked the first bit of clutter he could see, and made it a name.  His hair is <em>pink</em>.  Not rad, neon, punk pink.  Cotton candy pink.  Fluffy pink.”</p><p>“You’re babbling.”</p><p>“Yeah that happens.  I take a while to boot up.”</p><p>Dirk laughed.  “So you’re stuck in here until morning.  Why don’t I get your futon and drag it in?  I want to be nearby in case you need anything.”</p><p>“Dude, just get in.  It’s your bed anyway.  If I snore you can roll me out onto the floor, k?”</p><p>“Don’t be absurd,” Dirk said, sliding under the covers.  “I’ll smother you with a pillow like a gentleman.”</p><p>Todd didn’t have the strength to scootch over, meaning Dirk had to pretzel himself around Todd’s body to fit on the bed.  Dirk laid on his side with his head resting on his hand, his knees pressed against Todd’s leg. </p><p>“This alright?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Not too close?  It’s no problem to get the futon.  It’s not heavy.” </p><p>Todd placed a hand across Dirk’s thigh, holding him in place.  He ignored Dirk’s sharp intake of breath.</p><p>“Close isn’t a problem.  Hell, I’d molest you in my sleep but I haven’t got the energy.”</p><p>“That’s pleasing to know.”</p><p>It was a weird time to be flirting and Todd didn’t care.  It had been a fucking <em>day</em>.  Besides, he rationalized, his otherwise crippling self-consciousness wasn’t back online yet.</p><p>“Pleasing that I’d molest you, or that I can’t?”</p><p>Dirk leaned back a bit so that Todd could better see his smirk.  “Aren’t housemates off-limits?  I believe that’s the word you used.  ‘<em>Especially</em> without asking first,’ you said.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to make any of your other guys jealous.”</p><p>“Todd, not to make an awkward situation moreso, but since you moved in there haven’t <em>been</em> any others.”</p><p>“That’s bullshit.  You’re at the club or partying until all hours every week.”</p><p>“I return to my room alone.  You would know, if you ever stayed around late enough.”</p><p>“What about –” Todd’s addled thoughts gave him trouble putting it into words.  “The night that wasn’t Hugo?”</p><p>“That’s every night?”</p><p>“No, I mean – after you tutored Hugo during a party, a few weeks ago.  I woke up in the middle of the night and I could’ve sworn I heard… uh, something – but Hugo said he went home after your lesson.”</p><p>“Personal time.”</p><p>“Meaning?”</p><p>“A solo effort?”</p><p>Todd laughed.  “Dude, you were <em>loud</em>.”</p><p>“That’s how you know I was alone.”</p><p>“That’s.  Um.”</p><p>Dirk sighed and looked up at the ceiling as he spoke, “seeing as you already know.  The, erm.  My past.”  His voice quavered.</p><p>Todd put his forehead against Dirk’s cheek.  “You don’t have to talk about it.”</p><p>“I think I do.”  Dirk kissed Todd’s forehead softly, almost absently.</p><p>“I’ve always wondered if I’m who I am – if I’m <em>what</em> I am – because of it.  When I’m by myself it’s easier to relax.  I don’t have to, I dunno, <em>perform</em>, I suppose.  Second-guess myself or anyone else.  I don’t have to be there for someone else’s enjoyment.  I struggle with… I suppose you’d say ‘intimacy?’  The problem is that’s what I find sexy.  Leastways that’s what I <em>think</em>.  I haven’t had the chance to properly figure it all out yet.  It’s easier to be flash and flirty than to face the rest of it.”</p><p>“But when you have ‘personal time,’ that’s what you picture?  Emotional connection with someone?”</p><p>“It’s impossible to want what you already have,” Dirk said.  “That’s what ‘want’ is.  A ‘want’ is, by definition, unfulfilled.  So yes, that’s what I want when I think of desire.”</p><p>The way Dirk said ‘desire’ shot down Todd’s spine.  He unconsciously licked his lips.</p><p>“You want to be loved, not wanted.  To have someone devoted to <em>you</em>, not what you can do for them.”</p><p>“You’ve wrapped it up rather neatly.  Sure you’re still groggy?”</p><p>“Yep.  So alright, if we’re doing intimate confessions in bed,” Todd snorted nervously, then continued.  “I think I could see myself asking if you’d be up for breaking the ‘no housemates’ rule, but there’s some stuff I’ve gotta tell you first.”</p><p>“You <em>think you could see yourself asking.</em>  Todd, that’s as far from committal to an idea as I’ve ever heard.”</p><p>“This isn’t easy for me, alright?  It’s scary as fuck and if I weren’t full of brain fog I’d probably never say any of this.  But, like.  You need to know that I’m maybe only maybe 20% gay.”</p><p>“And which 20% of men is it that you fancy?”</p><p>“The, um.  I’m not…” Todd blew out a long breath to steady his nerves.  “I’m not into butt stuff?”  He sped up, trying to get all the words out before it got ahead of him.  “Guys are great.  <em>You</em> are amazing.  God, I’ve never been interested in anyone the way I am in you.  But, um.  It’s just that gay sex grosses me out?  And it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to date me when I don’t want, um.  Any of <em>that</em>.  I don’t, um.  I don’t want to take.  Or, like, give.  It’s not my thing.  So I couldn’t really do anything that you’d probably enjoy.  I’m only bi in theory, I guess.  The reality of it gives me the hinx.”</p><p>Dirk let out a startled laugh.</p><p>“I’m sorry.  It’s not like I’m judging anyone else!  But I’m fairly certain it’s not for me.”</p><p>“Oh Todd.  Darling.  You poor uneducated thing.”</p><p>“Okay, I mean, I know there’s blowjobs, but doesn’t that get old?  Especially if I, like… <em>hate</em>… y’know.”  He made a gagging face for emphasis.</p><p>Dirk was stroking his hair again, the way he had after Todd had collapsed. </p><p>“You really have no idea,” Dirk said, wonderingly.</p><p>“Meaning?”</p><p>“Tell you what.  If you’re serious – if you really want to give dating and the rest of it a go – then we’ll stick to whatever you’re comfortable with.  You tell me when you get bored.  So long as you promise me one thing.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“You’ll let me suggest things you might not have thought of now and then.  You can always say no or change your mind.  But I think you’ll find being gay is a little more complex than anal sex all the time.  To be honest I think there’s a good percentage who don’t especially like it, either.”</p><p>“You’re joking.”</p><p>“Try me.”</p><p>“Alright then.  Soon as I’m back to normal.”</p><p>“Soon as you’re back to normal,” Dirk echoed.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When Todd woke, an hour or so after dawn, his limbs finally felt like they were his own again. He took in the sight of Dirk curled up at the very edge of the bed and savored the wistful heat in his chest.</p><p>Dirk, for his part, was snoring exuberantly.</p><p>Todd got up and nudged Dirk a little closer to the center of the bed.</p><p>Dirk reached a hand toward the empty space where Todd had been. </p><p>"Don't go."</p><p>"Gonna get cleaned up and brush my teeth. I'm grody. I'll be back."</p><p>"'Kay," Dirk mumbled into the pillow. He began snoring again within seconds.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>A scalding shower and clean teeth – followed by fresh pajamas and a long drink of cool water – washed away the physical and emotional residue of the last week. Maybe things would turn around now that everything was out in the open between them. He still owed Dirk a more detailed apology and it would take a while before he trusted himself not to screw everything up, but he was getting a chance to at least try to make things right.</p><p>He had one leg under Dirk's sheets before it really hit him what was happening.</p><p>He was getting into bed. With his crush.</p><p>"You're having second thoughts," Dirk said, peeking out from under the covers he’d nested himself into.</p><p>"No, not that. But – I was so out of it last night that I feel like maybe I said too much, or the wrong things, or…"</p><p>Dirk bounced out of bed with far more energy than Todd mustered in an entire day, let alone before lunch.</p><p>"Why don't you get settled. I'll grab my own shower and then we can chat all you'd like."</p><p>"Before you go – I want to apologise for everything.  All the lying and secrets, being wrapped up in myself.  I'm such an asshole all the time.  You’re gonna have a hard time dealing with me."</p><p>Dirk sat down again on the edge of the bed.</p><p>"Todd, you try so hard to take care of others that you forget to trust them to take care of themselves.  I do wish you'd stop calling yourself an arsehole, though. It's easy to make excuses about old patterns of behavior. Why not let that go and try to do something different, if the arsehole persona isn't working out for you?"</p><p>Todd looked at the digital clock on Dirk’s bedstand.  8:33 AM. </p><p>“It’s too early for philosophy,” he said.  “Go shower or whatever, will you?”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>A trickle of kisses across the back of Todd’s neck woke him up.  Each one crackled along his nerves as it drew him closer to full wakefulness.  Plush lips pressed into the skin above the frayed collar of his teeshirt, along the cord of muscle on each side of his neck, behind his ears, along the edge of the fine hairs at his nape.  It lit him up from the inside out in waves until he thought he might burst.  A hand rested lightly on his hip, steadying him against the dip in the bed behind him where Dirk was lying a few inches away.</p><p>He reached a hand back, once he was awake enough to process what was happening, and rested it over Dirk’s thigh.  Muscles jumped under his fingers.</p><p>“This okay?” Dirk asked.</p><p>“<em>God</em> yes.”</p><p>Screwing up his courage, Todd inched himself backward incrementally until Dirk was flush against him.  It amplified everything to have Dirk’s form pressed into his back.  He found himself making a mental map of Dirk’s body: of the way his knees fit neatly against Todd’s knees, how his torso was longer and broader, the way he stretched and shifted as he moved, the steady warmth of his breath.</p><p>“Y’know, I wouldn’t be opposed to you trying that on the other side here,” Todd said in an uneven voice.</p><p>Dirk sucked one more long kiss into the crook where Todd’s neck met his shoulder, then guided Todd onto his back.</p><p>He admired Dirk openly.  His soft, freshly washed hair that smelled of strawberry shampoo.  The delicate curve of his shoulder.  The way his forearm crossed his torso, strong hand pressing into the mattress while the other held up his head.  The way his long neck and defined shoulders were accentuated by the sleeveless black undershirt.</p><p>And then, because he could, he let his eyes dip lower, unashamed to be caught looking for the first time in his life.  He relished the sight of Dirk’s slender hips and strong legs, and, well. </p><p>Fuckin’<em> yikes</em>.</p><p>Dirk was smiling so goofily that Todd had to laugh.</p><p>“I don’t know that I’ve ever been checked out <em>quite</em> so thoroughly,” Dirk said.</p><p>“I don’t know that I’ve ever had the opportunity to check out a guy thoroughly.”</p><p>“Like what you see?”</p><p>Todd took a beat to reply.  If Dirk wanted to be loved, then Todd would take his first step toward not being a selfish asshole by giving him love.</p><p>“I see someone who works hard and cares a lot about others.  I see someone who is resilient, and funny, and intelligent.”  He noted a flush creeping up Dirk’s face, accentuating the way his long eyelashes stood out against his cheeks as he looked down at the sheets in embarrassment.</p><p>“I see someone who is thoughtful, and sweet, and forgiving,” Todd went on.  “I see someone I admire – someone I’m proud to have the chance to date.  So yeah, I like what I see.”</p><p>“I… that’s…”</p><p>“Plus you’re super hot.”</p><p>“Well <em>thank you</em>,” Dirk said, back on comfortable ground.  “Short, dark, and hostile isn’t usually my type, but I think you’re ‘hot’ as well.”</p><p>They laughed together, foreheads touching as they delighted in each other’s joy.</p><p>“May I kiss you?”  The words were barely more than a whisper.</p><p>Todd cleared his throat.  “I mean, <em>yeah?</em>”</p><p>“Thought I ought to ask, seeing how it went the last time,” Dirk clarified, his eyes on Todd’s mouth.</p><p>Rather than dive in directly, though, Dirk dragged his lips along the line of Todd’s jaw.  Kisses, soft at first and then gaining in intensity, trailed down to where Todd’s pulse hammered in his throat.  He groaned more loudly than he’d intended and felt Dirk’s lips shift against his skin in response.</p><p>“I hope you’re not smiling,” he said, glancing down out of the corner of his eye to catch the tail-end of a shift from smug self-satisfaction to fake puppy eyes.</p><p>“C’mere,” he chuckled, and guided Dirk to him with his fingertips.</p><p>It took a moment to mentally switch gears from the delicious, magnetic anticipation to the darker, hungrier mental fireworks of “yes, <em>this</em>!”  A fog settled over his vision.  Kisses that began tenderly became urgent.  Dirk teased the tip of his tongue against the seam of Todd’s mouth and was admitted.  Torn between the need to press up against him and desire to be pushed down against the pillow, Todd whimpered and was rewarded with a playful nip on his bottom lip.  He splayed his fingers across Dirk’s chest, pressing the pads of his fingertips into the muscle there and savoring the feeling of unfamiliar skin.  Running the long thumbnail of his guitar picking hand in an arc from pec to shoulder, he stopped in surprise when he scraped along an enormous patch of scar tissue.</p><p>“I was shot twice when I escaped,” Dirk said, as flatly as if he were reading a weather forecast.</p><p>“Jesus <em>Christ</em>.”</p><p>“It was a blessing, in the end.  I needed a lot of physical therapy to get back full use of my arm and that got me into working out.  It was an outlet, I suppose, and a routine.  Something to do with my body that was purely for myself.  A sort of act of healing and self-reclamation, you could say.”</p><p>“You’d pretty much have to shoot me to get me to the gym, too.” </p><p>Dirk laughed and encircled Todd tightly in his arms.</p><p>“Thank you for giving me a chance to laugh about it,” he said.  He rubbed the tip of his nose against Todd’s affectionately.</p><p>“Always,” Todd replied, and meant it.  <em>Always</em>.</p><p>They remained there for a few lazy minutes, processing the winding path that had led them to this moment.</p><p>When Todd returned to the present Dirk had been tracing circles into the small of his back for so long that he felt like all his erogenous zones had shifted to that one area, as if all of him were concentrated into a bare patch of burning skin under Dirk’s fingers.  He hummed deep in his throat and felt Dirk tense.  The fingers dug in a little deeper.</p><p>A heavy pulse beat a tattoo under his tongue as he pressed a wet kiss into Dirk’s throat.  He nipped and sucked his way back to Dirk’s mouth, triumphant in the way Dirk’s breath caught when their tongues met. </p><p>It was jolting, this feeling of both desiring and being desired.  In the past his forays into sex had been about guessing what the girl liked and doing that until she stopped liking it (or him).  It had been partly about acquisition for the sake of ego and partly about wanting to be enough for someone else, even if for an hour. </p><p>This thing with Dirk, however, was both flame and fuel.  He wanted to touch and <em>be</em> touched.  And Dirk <em>wanted</em> Todd to touch him.  Wanted to touch <em>Todd</em> in return.  The little near-grunts and whispered gasps, the minor tremble of Dirk’s hands – seeing him <em>turned on</em> – was such a turn-on in itself that Todd felt half-sure he could get off on just the high of bringing Dirk close to the edge.</p><p>The thought evaporated when Dirk crowded him into the pillow with a deep, fervent kiss.  Todd kept his hips angled away and laughed self-consciously, unsure what to do with his hands or where to place his feet. </p><p>What did his partners usually do?  What did people in movies usually do?  Everything that had ever been in his memory went a panicky blank.</p><p>Clearly some kind of psychic, Dirk took Todd by the hip and pushed him the rest of the way flat onto his back, knocked a knee between Todd’s, and whispered in his ear.</p><p>“Relax,” he said.  “It’s not a test.”</p><p>Dirk began sinuously, sinfully rolling against him in waves, bringing their cocks in contact in long, slow slides.  Dirk was clearly aware of what it was doing to him because he held Todd’s hip down as Todd desperately tried to rise up to meet him.  Each time Dirk pulled away the need for more spiked higher until Todd lost track of the journey of his hands against Dirk’s skin.  He hadn’t even known they were raking in Dirk’s hair until Dirk nipped at Todd’s wrist with a sly grin. </p><p>From time to time Dirk would glance down between them and for a second or two the grace of his movements would stutter.</p><p><em>What else gets him going?</em>  Todd wondered.He <em>had</em> to hear Dirk keening again, like he had been that one night.  Had to hear him come apart. </p><p>Talking when he was making out with someone had always given him a case of the weirds.  And yet with Dirk it seemed the most natural thing in the world to simply ask. </p><p>“Show me what you like,” Todd said.  “Show me how you are when you’re alone.”</p><p>Dirk sounded surprisingly put-together considering how raggedly he was breathing.  “Todd, I’m hardly alone.  That’s the <em>entire </em>point.”  His voice had a delicious edge to it.</p><p>“Pretend I’m not here.  What do you picture?  Where do you touch?”</p><p>Dirk slowed and stopped.  “I don’t –”</p><p>“You <em>do.</em>”</p><p>“I’d rather focus on what you want.”</p><p>“That <em>is</em> what I want.  Show me how.  Tell me what works for you.”</p><p>Dirk held his gaze for several long seconds.  Whatever he was looking for in Todd’s eyes he must have found, because he rolled to the side and faced Todd earnestly. </p><p>“Look at you, being the bossy one.”</p><p>Todd snorted.  “No one in all of human history ever been as bossy as you.  I mean, but, like.  Tell me if you want to stop, though, okay?  No matter when.  You’re not going to hurt my feelings.” </p><p>Dirk cupped the side of Todd’s face silently for several long seconds. </p><p>“It’s a promise,” he said.</p><p>“Rad.  Okay, so, here – lie back, close your eyes – pretend I’m an extension of you.”  Todd hooked a leg over Dirk’s and placed his hand in the center of Dirk’s chest.  “Show me where you start.”</p><p>Dirk closed his eyes and took the longest, deepest breath Todd could imagine anyone taking.  He filled his lungs like they were nearly infinite, then let the air eke out so slowly as to be nearly undetectable.  As he did, Todd felt tension slide out of Dirk’s muscles.  It made sense.  Dirk was <em>on</em> all the time, always performing for others.  Letting all that go to focus on himself for a moment must be a hell of a process.</p><p>Dirk laced one hand with Todd’s and used the other to cup his cock over his boxers.  Starting with the barest of touches, he worked up to long, languid strokes, biting his lip against the feeling.  Under their intertwined hands Todd felt Dirk’s breath ramp and his heart begin to race.</p><p>“What were you thinking of, that night I overheard you?”</p><p>Dirk opened one eye.  “You.  If I’m honest.”  He started, almost imperceptibly, to tense his hips against each downstroke.</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>“You – <em>?</em>”</p><p>Todd matched Dirk’s surprised grin with an embarrassed one.</p><p>“Like I said, um.  You were <em>loud</em>.  I’ve never been so hard in my <em>life</em>.  If it helps, I had a hell of a crisis about it.  I feel a lot less creepy now that I know, though.”</p><p>Dirk’s fingers tightened around Todd’s.  His throat bobbed in an audible swallow.  “It wasn’t <em>entirely</em> an accident,” he admitted.</p><p>Todd let go of Dirk’s hand to dance a single fingertip along his stomach and along the trail of dark hair leading from his navel, until it brushed, feather-soft, across Dirk’s knuckles. </p><p>In a single movement Dirk claimed Todd’s mouth and let Todd’s hand slip under his own.  He guided the pressure and rhythm over the buttery-soft fabric of his boxers, accentuating each stroke with a sharp exhalation, as if sighs were getting caught in his throat. </p><p>“This is you,” Dirk whispered against his lips.  “This is what you do for me.  I –” </p><p>He cut off when Todd squeezed reflectively, bucking hard against Todd’s hand. </p><p>“<em>Shit</em>, Todd.  Todd.  Can we – will you –”  He scrabbled blindly under his pillow for a moment until he found a bottle of lube.</p><p>Todd smirked despite himself.  “Y’know, seeing you speechless is like winning the lottery.”</p><p>Dirk huffed.</p><p>“Yes,” Todd laughed.  “<em>Please</em>.”  He held out his hand and tried not to flinch when the cold dollop of goo hit his palm. </p><p>As Todd warmed the lube against his fingers, Dirk sucked at the sensitive dip at the base of his throat.  He ran his hands down Todd’s ribs and lightly up his back, scraping his nails along the ridge between Todd’s shoulder blades.  Todd shivered and brought himself back into the moment.</p><p>“Close your eyes,” he reminded Dirk.  “Focus on you.”</p><p>“But –”</p><p>“Dirk.  This is the hottest thing I’ve ever been a part of.  No arguing unless it’s something you actually don’t want.  We’re not going to have a politeness battle over a handjob we’re both enjoying.”</p><p>Dirk sat up a little to plant a swift, hungry kiss on Todd’s lips, then laid back down and dutifully closed his eyes.  Todd took a moment simply to appreciate the beauty of his kind face relaxing into the warm morning sunlight.  Then, hooking a finger under the waistband, he helped Dirk out of his boxers.</p><p>Dirk gave a sharp intake of breath, hissing inward through his teeth at the first graze of Todd’s fingers along his length.  Todd started with deliberate slowness, enjoying the sight of his slicked-up fist wrapped around Dirk’s cock.  It would be a crime, after all, not to memorize this moment.  Through the haze of desire Todd tried to commit it all to memory: the heft and girth of Dirk in his hand; the tight simmering low in his own gut; the intensely arousing novelty of touching Dirk like this and seeing flickers of pleasure in Dirk’s features.  Equal measures of excitement and nervousness ran through him as he acclimated to the unfamiliar angle and shape.  He watched as closely as he could for what Dirk pushed against – what caused his eyelashes to flutter or his breath to hitch.  As he did, Dirk’s hands trailed lazily over Todd’s shoulders and neck, across his abdomen, over his hips.</p><p>The more Dirk’s breathing sped up and the more he rolled his hips into Todd’s grip, the harder it was to keep focused.  The slippery slide of his hand met the force of Dirk’s thrusts and Todd found himself gasping.  To try to stay grounded he laved his tongue over a nipple.  He could feel the heat rise in his face at Dirk’s harsh panting.   A thumb grazed his cheek and Todd leaned into it, turning his face to place a kiss against Dirk’s palm.</p><p>Once, years ago, a girl had licked Todd’s fingers during sex, which at the time seemed odd to him but who was he to judge?  People do lots of weird things during sex.  So while it wasn’t really his jam, he’d rolled with it.  He always wondered, though, why she’d seemed so disappointed that he was ambivalent about it.  Now, in a fit of curiosity, he drew two of Dirk’s fingers into his mouth – more on whim than with any real intent.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>, though, the <em>sound</em> Dirk made.  Todd would sell his soul to hear it again.</p><p>The pressure of Dirk’s fingers against Todd’s tongue was unexpectedly hot.  He sucked, hard, and drew a long, low groan out of Dirk.  A jolt of sexual energy rushed through Todd’s entire body.  Before he knew it he was bobbing his head in time with the pumping of his hand, mimicking the slide of his grip on Dirk’s cock with the slide of his lips along Dirk’s long fingers.  Each time Dirk thrust into Todd’s hand his thigh shifted against Todd’s dick, offering delicious friction exactly where he wanted it most.  No wonder Todd couldn’t control the reflexive jerk of his hips.  Add in the increasingly desperate whines from Dirk and Todd was sure he was going to pass out if he didn’t come soon.</p><p>Dirk pressed a third finger into Todd’s mouth and Jesus, <em>fuck</em>.  They moaned in chorus as Todd took them in as deep as he could.</p><p>“Todd.  Can we –”  He cut off with a whimper.</p><p>Todd licked along the tips of Dirk’s fingers.  “Fuck, yeah.  <em>Anything</em>.”</p><p>Without pretense Dirk rolled them until he was on top, shoved Todd’s shorts down a few inches, took them both in hand, and began to rut against Todd’s dick in short, hard strokes.  Todd was vaguely aware he must’ve grabbed more lube before he did, because the intense heat of Dirk’s cock paired with the cool, wet glide of his hand.</p><p>Fuck, <em>fuck.</em></p><p>Utterly sinful noises erupted from Dirk’s throat in a litany of wordless gratification.  His voice was thicker and more wrecked with each stroke.</p><p>This was it, Todd thought.  His heart was going to stop.  And it was fucking <em>glorious</em>. </p><p>Through his sex-drugged gaze he could see the almost pained crease in Dirk’s forehead, brows half-furrowed as if in surprise.  He pulled Dirk down for a sloppy, filthy kiss and that was it.  He came hard, almost doubling in half from the force of it slamming along his raw nerves.</p><p>He was so massively overstimulated that he was grateful when Dirk came a few strokes later with a crushing groan, forehead pressed against Todd’s as if he could meld them into one person by sheer force of orgasm.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Todd hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but when he woke Dirk was on his side and breathing deeply.  A great well of fondness sprung from Todd’s heart as he watched. </p><p>The stickiness, though.  <em>Yeuch</em>.</p><p>Todd stripped off his tee-shirt and used it to mop himself up, turned it inside-out, and gently dabbed at Dirk’s skin.  When they were both reasonably dried off he balled the shirt up and tossed it into a corner.  When he looked back he saw Dirk watching him through one horrified eye.</p><p>“<em>What</em> are you doing?”</p><p>“Dude, that is precisely what PJs are for.”</p><p>“It isn’t.  You’re a barbarian.”  Dirk paused.  Conversationally, he added, “<em>Did you know</em> that the word ‘barbarian’ comes from Greeks making fun of the way they thought foreigners sounded?  Sort of a <em>bar bar bar bar bar bar</em> babbling noise.  Not entirely unlike your uncultured foreign nonsense about using pyjamas for cleaning up.”</p><p><em>Well, </em>Todd thought, <em>his loquaciousness is certainly back to baseline.</em></p><p>“You’ll have to domesticate me, then,” he said, tucking his hands behind his head. </p><p>“I suspect you’ll always be part feral,” Dirk replied, planting a kiss on Todd’s cheek.</p><p>“Hey, y’know, not to ruin a delightful moment of criticism about my personal hygiene, but I want to say again how sorry I am about the way things have gone the last few weeks.  I swear I was only trying to keep you safe.”</p><p>“I know you were.”</p><p>“You get so hell-bent on acting recklessly.  It scares me.”</p><p>“We’ve both got things to work on, I suppose.”</p><p>“Good thing we’ve got each other to lean on.”</p><p>“Good thing,” Dirk said, yawning. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“We have normality. I repeat, we have normality. Anything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem.”<br/><strong>Douglas Adams, <span class="u">The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy</span></strong></p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION:</b>  if someone has a seizure and you’re with them, call emergency services <b><span class="u"><i>IMMEDIATELY</i></span></b>.  Try to lower them gently to the ground if you can.  Pillow their head with something soft so they don’t smack it on the ground, roll them onto their side, then call for medical help <span class="u">straightaway</span>.  (Don’t put anything in their mouth, they could choke or end up injured – rolling them on their side helps prevent them from choking on spit/vomit.)  The person will likely come to within seconds or minutes, and when they do they can be very confused / disoriented and may have injuries from the seizure.  </p><p><b><i>Please</i> don’t forego calling EMS</b>.  The brain is an organ that needs to be checked after every single possible injury.  I skipped over that bit for narrative flow, but anyone who has a seizure absolutely, without a doubt needs to go to the hospital – don’t ask them if they want to, the way Dirk did here, in other words.  This is fiction.  In real life brains are squishy and people who’ve just had a seizure are in no place to be making serious decisions about their health or safety.</p><p>(The kind of seizure depicted in the story is tonic-clonic followed by a brief period of Todd’s palsy.  There are many types of seizure, including ones that simply look like the person is buffering/frozen for several seconds.  Todd’s palsy, also called Todd’s paresis or Todd’s paralysis, happens about 10% of the time after a seizure.  It’s basically a garbage can term for any kind of persistent weakness/paralysis/impaired neurological function after a seizure.  I’m floored that someone actually picked on my intention to use it before I’d even posted this chapter!  You all are so smart!!)</p><p><b>Also:</b> so for context, one of my specialties is neurology but I’m of the academic bent whereas my spouse is a clinical MD.  I asked them about seizure triggers and – five hours and half a dozen rabbit holes later – we learned some really, <i>really</i> interesting stuff.  There are loads of common triggers, like stress, certain foods, not getting enough sleep, bright/flashing lights, sudden changes in bariatric pressure, sudden changes in blood pressure (for example, from standing up too fast), plus alcohol and caffeine as mentioned in an earlier chapter.  I had asked my spouse whether they knew offhand if nicotine was a potential trigger, but since they didn’t we ended up doing some research.  And what we found out was, I think, really good info to share widely:  <i>not only is nicotine a potential seizure trigger, <b>vaping is <span class="u">many</span> times more likely to cause a seizure</b> than regular smoking.</i>  (Vaping wasn’t a thing during the time period where this story is set so I wanted to include more information in the notes because I really, really want people to know that even if someone hasn’t had a seizure before, vaping could be the thing that causes one.)<br/> <br/>Also, weirdly, grapefruit can be an indirect trigger. It causes the liver to metabolize medications much more quickly, meaning that any meds that are processed by the liver are risky to mix with grapefruit since it lowers with the amount of medication in the body – this is why people on heart medications are warned off grapefruit, because old people love grapefruit and are more likely to be on heart meds.  (This is also true of several kinds of psych meds, so double-check with your pharmacist if you’re the sort of person who eats grapefruit.  No judgment.)</p><p>Cloves (“clove cigarettes/cigars”) were very popular among goths and non-straightedge punks Back In The Day (maybe they still are?), and sometimes people would spread the myth that they didn’t contain nicotine, even though – like vaping – they were in fact many many times worse for one’s health.  I think they’ve changed legal status where I live and now have to be classified as cigars rather than cigarettes precisely because they’re that much worse.</p><p>(I’m not against smoking or vaping as social/occasional things to do and obviously it’s not like any smoker was ever <i>shocked</i> to discover it’s unhealthy.  I certainly liked cloves in college and still have one on my birthday every year.  So there’s the full disclosure because I’d hate to sound like some hypocrite.  But if you were looking for yet another reason to quit / not to start, “could be a seizure trigger” goes on the list.)</p>
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